Here Is Gone

By Terri

Chapter 21

Passions was on when Dawn knocked on Giles’ door. Spike recognized her scent before he even answered, and gave the teen a smile as he swung the door open.

“Hello, Bit,” he greeted, using the door to shield him from the sunlight that streamed in the open doorway.

“How’d you know it was me?” she asked, smiling until she saw his face- still bruised from the beating he’d suffered.

He tapped his nose as he closed the door and ushered her into the living room. “Can sniff your Teen Spirit from here, Bit.”

She blushed. “Sorry, dumb question, huh?”

Spike shrugged, moving to sit on the couch. Dawn sat next to him, placing her book bag on the floor.

“Came here from school, eh?”

Dawn nodded. “Mom told me you were house-sitting for Giles while he’s in England.”

“Yeah, Ol’ Rupert hasn’t kicked me out yet.”

“How are you feeling?”

Spike gave her a fond look for her concern. “Mending.”

“I can’t believe Buffy beat you up like that. I mean, you can’t even defend yourself!”

“Now now, you can’t blame Big Sis. She’s goin’ through a lot, and I haven’t given her much reason to trust me in the past,” he said gently.

Dawn’s face grew earnest. “But you’ve changed! You’ve been helping us. You’ve been helping with patrol, and stuff. And helping me…”

“Still a demon, pet. Nothin’ will change that.”

Dawn looked away, pensive. “I just think she blames you for things you didn’t do.”

“That may be so, but if it is, there’s nothin’ you or I can do about it. Tell me about your mum. How’s she doin’?”

Dawn perked up, smiling. “She’s home! The surgery went great and the doctors say they got all of the tumor.”

He shared her enthusiasm. “That’s wonderful news, Bit. Now we just have to make sure she heals up right.”

Dawn nodded vigorously, and he smiled to himself.

‘No time like the present…’

Spike motioned towards the television. “Was watchin’ that show they have… Operation. Lotsa blood and guts that is. They got cameras in the operatin’ room. Show ya everything.”

Dawn’s nose crinkled. “Eeewww.”

“Hey, bloke’s gotta get his jollies some way. Anyway, they were talkin’ ‘bout risks after certain operations. Blood clots and the like. Your mum’s doc’s gonna put her on blood thinners right?”

“I… I dunno…”

‘Okay, look earnest…’

“Maybe oughtta talk to her about it. Blood clots in the brain are no good. An’ with her comin’ out of the surgery so well, don’t wanna be takin’ any chances, now do we?”

‘There. Plant *that* little bug in her ear.’

Dawn’s eyes grew wide and Spike saw the glimmer of fear in them. “No. We don’t. I’ll talk to her about it, Spike. Thanks.”

He shrugged. “Was just a thought.”

She touched his hand.

“A good thought. See what I mean? You’d never have thought about that before. You never would have even cared if Mom got sick. You have changed.” She edged a little closer, eyes hooded and shy. “I think you’re beginning to like us.”

‘Warning! Warning! Teenage hormone bomb movin’ in for the kill. Gotta head it off at the pass…’

He moved further away on the couch, crossing his legs to make it harder to get closer. “So, Bit, how’s Big Sis?”

The mention of her sister had the desired effect and cooled Dawn’s unwelcome advances.

“She’s okay,” Dawn answered with a shrug. “Riley’s gone though.”

He feigned innocence even though Giles had already told him of Riley’s departure. “Soldier Boy?”

“Yeah. Off to Belize or some place like that. He and Buffy broke up. He had a vamp problem.”

“A vamp problem?”

“Yeah, he was paying vamps to bite him. Made him feel needed.”

“What? Did Big Sis tell you that?”

Dawn shook her head. “Overheard her talking to Willow about it.”

Spike gave her a proud smile. “Becomin’ a veritable little eavesdropper, eh, Nibblet?”

She shrugged. “It’s easy when no one notices you.”

“Oh, I doubt they don’t notice you.”

“Sometimes it feels that way.”

His caring instincts towards the girl overrode his reservations towards allowing her to get too close, and he moved closer..

“Believe me, Bit, you are not the type of girl that goes unnoticed,” he assured, leaning towards her.

She looked at him, her eyes hopeful, preening. “Really? You think so?”

He pulled back, but answered with complete honesty, “Absolutely.”

Her grin was genuine and he had to smile.

“Thanks, Spike. I mean, with Mom’s illness, and this new demon, I think Buffy sees me as a nuisance.”

He reached out and pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. It was something he had been reluctant to do the last time he had lived this time, but months of caring for Dawn in the summer of Buffy’s death and all of the changes he had gone through in that time, gave him a new ease. He knew Dawn was a tactile person, like he was, and that she craved physical contact. He wondered if the need for touch was a ‘Key-thing’ or if it was something the monks hadn’t anticipated.

“You’re never a nuisance, Sweet Bit. You’re the Apple of everyone’s eye. And anyone that doesn’t think you’re wonderful is a bloody pillock.”

She giggled at his words and smiled.

“Thanks, Spike.”

He sat back and patted his thigh. “So, what they teachin’ you in school these days?”

Dawn retrieved her book bag and pulled it to her lap. “I have a test on World War I in history on Friday.”

“World War I, eh? You do know who really started that war, right?”

“The Austrians who wanted revenge for the murder of Arch Duke Ferdinand, and Germany gave them the Blank Check to do what they wanted and sent troops.”

Spike shook his head vigorously. “No, that’s not what happened, Bit. Yeah, the Duke got killed and the Austrians were madder than Hell. And since Germany and Austria are practically the same country as far as the Royal Family goes Old Kaiser William felt obligated to lend a hand. No, Bit, if you read between the lines, you’ll learn that France was the one that pushed for the declaration of War against Germany.”

Dawn’s brow creased. “Well, yeah, coz Yugoslavia was afraid Germany would attack them.”

“Bollocks,” he argued, pointing a finger at her. “You mark my words, it was the French that started World War I, not the Germans. If the French had kept their noses out of it, Austria would’ve gotten revenge for Ferdinand’s murder and that would have been it.”

She pulled out her history text book. “That’s not what my book says.”

“Sod the book. Don’t they tell you that history is written by the victors? Of course they wouldn’t tell you the truth. Believe me, Bit. Take it from someone who was there. It was the French.”

She laughed. “If you say so.”

“Oh, I say so. In fact, if you look at history, the French are responsible for a whole lot of evil things that they never got called on.”

She was smiling, her eyes dancing with mirth. She knew he was playing with her and loved it.

‘No one ever gives this poor girl anything but grief.’

“Oh really?” she said teasingly.

“Hell yeah. I mean, French fashion is the worst, and the food! They eat *snails* for god sakes, and *frogs legs!* They have absolutely no concept of real food. Pate and crepes… disgusting. Give me a juicy London sausage or leg of mutton any day.”

Dawn laughed outright, her joy filling the room. He pressed on, grinning at her.

“And café au lait, and croissants, and frillin’ champagne! Wine with *bubbles*, a true sign of a weak mind, I tell you.”

She was laughing so hard that tears were leaking from her eyes and she was gasping for breath.

“And their dogs! Useless mongrels they are. Bichons and bloody French *poodles!* Bloody poofters the lot of ‘em!”

“Stop! Stop!” Dawn cried through breathless gasps. “You’re killin’ me!”

Spike chuckled, smiled. “Oh, pet, if I was killin’ you, you’d know it.”

“You always make me laugh, Spike.”

“It’s good to see a smile on your face, Bit. Can’t stand to see a Summers woman frown. And speakin’ of frownin’, your mum know you’re here?”

Dawn looked guilty and he scowled at her.

“Now, Bit, we can’t be havin’ her worried about you. She’ll send Big Sis and things’ll get ugly. You use that phone over there and call her, ‘fore Buffy comes blazin’ in here with stakes drawn.”

“Okay.”

She unfolded herself from the couch and did as he asked. A few moments later she came back.

“Mom needs me home, so I have to go. She was glad I called. She was getting worried, but when I said I was over here with you, she was cool. She told me to tell you to come over sometime.”

“I’d like that. Tell ‘er I’ll be by.”

“I will,” she promised, shouldering her book bag and heading for the door.

“Bye Spike. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Bye, Bit. I’ll be seein’ you.”

She gave him a final fond glance and headed out, closing the door quietly behind her. After she was gone, he tried to re-focus on watching TV, but found that he missed her. There had been a time when it had been normal for him to be with her in this setting. He had many memories of sitting in the Summers’ living room, watching TV while Dawn did her homework.

There were quiet evenings spent together, both together and separate in their loss and grief. Sometimes they would talk or play cards. He’d taught her to play poker. Dawn had an amazing poker face, and she’d made him proud with her bluffing skills. Sometimes he would help her with her homework, telling her about his recollection of history and his classic English training. Oh how William would come out to play on those nights. Only Dawn ever saw, of course, but he would read poetry and recite Shakespeare and make her laugh with his antics. It seemed that he was the only one who could get a smile out of her in those early days.

Then there were the times when the loss got too much, and she would crawl into his arms and he would hold her. Her head would rest against his chest, her hair tickling his chin, and he would lose himself in her scent and heartbeat. Two orphans, they were, clinging to each other in a world that had brought them so much pain and so little understanding.

Buffy’s friends had discouraged Dawn after a while, thinking it unhealthy for her to be so attached to him, to a soulless vampire, and their times together became more and more infrequent. Relegated to the outside again, like a dog that was supposed to be mean but only wanted to be loved, he hung on the fringes, looking in, missing his brief moments of acceptance.

‘Moments of splendor in the grass…’ he thought, wincing at the way the verse came back with such ease. William might have been dead for over 120 years, but his essence lived on in Spike, and now his soul was known to spout poetry at odd moments.

He was kicked to curb completely, of course, after said friends ripped Buffy out of Heaven. No longer needed, he was all but abandoned, tossed away like so much garbage. The undead, evil thing who was incapable of feeling, whose broken heart could only find solace at the bottom of a bottle. He hardly ever saw Dawn then, and after the stint with the singing demon, Buffy had nothing but anger for him. It wasn’t his fault he spoke the truth, but she didn’t see it that way. Then again, Buffy’s primary defense mechanism was denial.

Even after she had begun their torrid affair, she had denied everything between them. She denied her feelings for him and completely disregarded his feelings for her. Coming to him, hating him, hating herself and using him, she never once allowed herself to think that what they had could be something more, something wonderful.

She’d never let him be gentle. Sex between them had always been violent and raw, except for the one time, the time right before Soldier Boy returned as the triumphant hero and blew everything to Hell. That had been the only time they had even come close to the lovemaking he had wanted to share with her. If only she had let him…

‘Ah, don’t go there. That way lies madness. Or more of it than there already is,’ he chastised himself.

Turning off the TV, he rose to his feet.

‘This Nibblet will never love you as the only thing that kept her safe and sane. She will never look at you with eyes that reflect your own pain and understand it. She will never hang on your every word and trust you with her life,’ he thought, resigned. ‘But this Dawn will also never lose her mother or see her sister sacrifice herself for her. She will never know grief or pain or terror, because I will stop it. Joyce will not die and Buffy will not jump to her death to save her sister, and no one but Giles will ever be the wiser that it had ever been any different. And no one will know what I sacrificed to make it all possible.’

He sighed and looked at the clock.

‘Olaf’ll be makin’ his appearance soon. Best get ready.’

He forced one foot in front of the other until he got to the bathroom.

‘Wash your face, comb your hair. Don’t think about anything beyond that.’

Part of him wished for a Polaroid camera so he could see how bad the bruises on his face were. It had been a week, and the swelling and most of the soreness was gone. Still, Dawn had winced when she saw him, so there must be some discoloration left.

‘Naught to be done for it.’

He sniffed his shirt to make sure it smelled okay and splashed some water on his face. Then he combed back his hair and walked to the living room to put on his coat. His duster was his shield against the world and he donned it like his armor, protecting him from harm. He stood a little taller, his shoulders a little straighter, his heart a little braver.

‘Once more unto the brink.’

He opened the door and walked out into the night.

Chapter 22

Spike was at the Bronze when Xander bumped into him, just as he had before, and from there, the timeline was pretty much the same. He pushed Xander’s buttons by stealing peanuts, and eventually he and Xander struck up a game of pool. He listened to Xander bemoan his situation with Anya and Willow, knowing full well that Olaf would be coming in any minute. Still, he tried to pretend that he was paying attention and made appropriate comments where necessary.

The biggest difference, of course, was that he wasn’t carrying the guilt of telling Buffy about Riley’s bad habit. In this timeline, Giles had broken the news to the Slayer and he had not had to bear the brunt of Buffy’s ire. This in and of itself was a relief. He hated having Buffy angry at him because an angry Slayer was a violent Slayer, much more apt to break his nose than listen to him. In this timeline, he might have more of a chance of actually talking to her. It would also be the first time since the beating that he would see her, and he knew that she was carrying at least some guilt and remorse over her behavior.

“They get in these fights and then they're both looking to me, like I'm the referee. Also, sometimes I'll say something about Anya, and Willow will get this look. This "what the hell do you see in her" look,” Xander was saying as they played pool.

Spike nodded sympathetically. “I know that look. Lot of people never really got Dru, you know?”

“Well, she was insane,” he commented offhandedly, ignoring Spike’s irritated glance. “And then it's like, I get all torn, because Willow's my best friend, and I really value her opinion. But Anya's my girlfriend, you know?”

“Nothin’ like split loyalties. I know all about that,” Spike said with a sigh.

That caught Xander’s attention. “What do you mean?”

Spike shrugged. “The whole Acathla thing with Angelus and Dru. Owed ‘em as my family, didn’t wanna turn against Dru, but they were gonna destroy the world, y’know? I had to do something. Truce with the Slayer seemed the right thing ta do. How was I to know Dru’d never forgive me?”

“Buffy told me how you helped her. Even if you were only doing it for selfish reasons, I don’t know if she could have beaten them both if you hadn’t taken care of Drusilla. You really helped.”

Spike was taken back. “Harris are you *thanking* me?”

Xander made another shot. “Don’t ever tell anyone or you are so dust.”

Spike smirked, feeling something bloom inside his chest. “My lips are sealed forever, whelp.”

Just then, he was bumped from behind and he knew immediately who it was.

‘Showtime.’

“Hey! Watch it, mate!” he groused, turning to see the troll. “Second thought, do what you like.”

“Ale!” the troll yelled happily, grabbing a keg from a handtruck. “Yes! Fragrant ale! I have been trapped for many centuries and along with my taste of freedom I would appreciate the taste of a fine grain-based beverage!”

He tucked his hammer into its holder, raised the keg with one hand and bit into it, draining it while Spike and Xander watched.

“So, um… think I should run get Buffy?” Xander whispered.

Spike shrugged as Olaf threw the empty keg to the ground.

“Barmaid! Fetch me stronger ale! And some plump succulent babies to eat!” the troll ordered.

“I'm gonna run get Buffy,” Xander said, then turned to Spike. “Or you can fight him!”

Spike sized up the troll. “Yeah, I could do that if I had a death wish.”

Xander moved to head for the exit, but before he could take a single step, the troll noticed them.

“You there! Do you know where there are babies?” he asked.

Spike decided that he liked teasing Xander and turned to him as he had before, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “What do you think? The hospital, maybe?”

The comment worked and Xander bristled. “What? Shut up!”

Spike smiled to himself. ‘Gotta get my kicks in somehow.’

“Um... listen...” Xander was saying to the troll.

“I find myself very hungry and when I am hungry I get short of patience!”

“Hey, we can take care of hungry. How 'bout you just sit down, on one of the sturdier chairs, and we can talk calmly and have some food.”

“Can it be babies?” the troll asked hopefully.

“Well, not so much. But maybe... roast pigs and... stags... and much hearty grog!”

“They have this onion thing—“ Spike offered helpfully.

“You cannot appease me! Do not try!” the troll yelled, then turned to the bar and grabbed another keg. “More ale!”

Spike and Xander backed away from the distracted troll and ran into Willow and Anya, who had just entered. Willow was carrying a book.

“Your work, Red?” Spike asked innocently.

While the young witch was tongue-tied, Anya noticed Xander.

“Xander! You shouldn't be here! There's a troll!” she exclaimed.

“Big guy? Hammer? Think I noticed him.”

“I wish Buffy was here,” Willow bemoaned as the troll drank another keg.

Just then Buffy and Tara enter and come running over.

“I'm here,” Buffy said, breathless.

“I wish for a million dollars,” Willow said, surprised at Buffy’s timely appearance, then saw Xander’s look. “Just checking.”

Tara immediately hugged Willow. “I'm so glad you're okay.”

“What's going on?” Buffy demanded. “Where’d he come from?”

Knowing she hadn’t seen him yet, he stepped forward tentatively, face slightly down so as not to display the bruises too much.

“Hello Buffy,” he said carefully.

She saw him and her jaw dropped, then her face filled with shame and she looked away.

“Spike.”

“I was here when he showed up. Easily ticked off. Likes his beer. Could put somethin’ in a keg maybe. Knock ‘im out,” he suggested.

Shocked that he was trying to be helpful, she raised her eyes to stare at him.

“Umm… that’s… that’s a good idea,” she stammered.

“Yeah.” He looked at her, his vision condensing until she was the only thing that existed. “Heard Joyce is doing well. Nibblet told me,” he said suddenly, not wanting to lose her attention.

A smile cracked her face and she beamed. “Yeah, she’s doing great. We’re really happy.”

He smiled back. “I’m glad. She’s a great woman, your mum.”

Buffy looked away. “Yeah, she is.”

“You look good too… better.”

She looked back up and he saw the thin line of tears in her eyes. “Yeah. Well… I… I gotta… y’know…” She pointed a thumb at Olaf. “Troll.”

He nodded and leaned close. “Get ‘is hammer. All his power’s in the hammer.”

Buffy’s eyes opened wide. “Oh.”

He looked around at the people who seemed oblivious to the danger they were in. “You want, I could try to clear this place out. Less chance of someone gettin’ hurt.”

“That… that would be very helpful,” she stammered, still shocked.

He nodded, forming a plan in his head. “Listen, trolls are testy buggers.” He gave a nod towards Willow who was flipping through her spellbook. “If Red’s fixin’ to do some mojo, best take it outside. He gets pissed off and starts swingin’ that hammer, he could bring the whole place down.”

Buffy’s gaze followed his to all the people in the club and she got the “I’m the Slayer and this is my job” look on her face. Spike smiled because he loved to see her work; she was glorious to him.

“Right. Good idea. You work on clearing these people out of here. I’ll get big and drinky outside.”

Given his marching orders, he left Buffy to deal with Olaf and set on emptying the club. The first thing he did was pull the fire alarm, but amazingly, that only cleared out a third of the crowd. So he jumped onto the stage, unplugged the sound system, and grabbed a wireless mike that was still turned on.

“Oi! People! This is not a drill! Clear out now!” he ordered.

They stared stupidly at him.

“What, are all of you seriously stoned?! There’s bloody alarm goin’ off. Find the nearest exit and bugger off!”

They still stared, not comprehending at all. Spike raised his eyes to the ceiling, counted to ten, then gave up.

“Oh, bugger it.”

He shifted into gameface and roared. “GET OUT!”

That did it. The residents of Sunnydale might be too daft to pay any attention to a fire alarm, but give them a bloodthirsty killer and they reacted.

Screams echoed off the club walls and the crowd made a mass stampede for the exits. The scent of fear gave him a headrush and he grinned, still in demon face.

“Yeah, that’s it, ya blighters. I’m the Big Bad! Run, you sods! Get outta here!”

He gave a few more growls for good measure as the last of the patrons ran squealing out, then took stock of his work. The place was empty, Buffy and the Scoobies were gone, so was the troll, and the club was intact. He grinned, realizing he had averted the disaster that had closed down the club, raised prices and axed the blooming onion.

‘Not bad for a day’s work.’

Still in gameface, he sauntered up to the deserted bar, and walked behind it, perusing the selection of liquor. He knew that his job was done for the day. Buffy and Red would send Olaf packing off to Troll Paradise and get the Hammer in trade. Xander would get beat up, but at least it wasn’t him for once and the whelp wouldn’t be too badly damaged. All would end well, and for his part in the whole thing, he deserved a beer.

‘Ah… Pete’s Wicked Ale. Didn’t know they had this. Wankers keep it hidden.’

He snagged a bottle, opened it with his teeth, and took a deep swig. Pulling it back, he shook off his demon.

‘Nothin’ like a fang to get in the way of a good beer.’

He was just finishing his third when Giles came staggering in, holding what was left of a statue. Seeing the look on the Watcher’s face, he pulled another beer from behind the bar and slammed it on the counter. Giles came over and sat on a stool.

“Back early, Rupes?”

“You… you didn’t tell me it was quite that bad,” Giles said, stunned, even as he reached for the beer.

Spike shrugged. “Tried to warn ya, but hey! Look! I saved the bloomin’ onion!”

Giles gave a disinterested glance to the empty club. “Well, yes, bully for you.” He took a swig of the beer Spike had given him and shook his head. “God, this is hard.”

“Why do you think I spend most of my time drunk, Rupes? It’s either that or go stark, raving mad.”

“Yes, well, I would argue that it might be too late for that,” the Watcher commented.

Spike shrugged and raised his bottle.

“So, Buffy defeats the troll?”

Spike nodded. “Yep. With Red’s help. They get the Hammer, Olaf gets shipped off to Troll Paradise and all is well in SunnyHell for another week.”

Giles was still dazed. “How very… reassuring.”

Spike looked away and took another drink. “S’all we can hope for, Watcher. So, meet-n-greet with the Council of Wankers any good?”

“They are sending a team here to evaluate the situation.”

“Told you they would.”

“Yes, however, knowing that and reconciling it are two entirely different things.”

“How do you think I feel?”

The words seemed to shake Giles out of his stupor and he cocked his head.

“Yes… I do wonder sometimes.”

Giles reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of fine sand. He then threw it on Spike, shouting, “Illuminati!”

“What the? Oi, Rupert! What ya do that for?” Spike yelled, brushing off the sand angrily. “Oh, and ya even got it in my beer, ya wanker!”

He looked over at Giles, who was staring at him, dumbfounded.

“What?” he demanded.

“You have a soul,” came the monotone answer.

“Well, duh. I told you I have a soul.”

“Yes, but I didn’t believe you. I was convinced you had found a way to lie even under the Truth Spell, because if what you told me was true then…” He trailed off.

Spike sighed, understanding. “Yeah. I know. But believe me, Watcher, I wish was lying. Cosmic joke this is.”

“I’ve always suspected that the Powers That Be had a sick sense of humor. Now I have proof,” Giles said woodenly.

The words stung more than they should have, and he couldn’t help feeling hurt. Giles was his only confidante in this mess, the only one who shared the heavy burden with him, and now it had been revealed that the Watcher hadn’t believed him all along. It cut him, bringing all his feelings of betrayal and inadequacy to the fore.

“Well, yeah. Unlikely hero here. Makin’ the world safe for puppies, Christmas and bloomin’ onions. About all I’m good for. If I hadn’t colossally screwed up when I had the chance, none of it would have happened.”

Giles looked apologetic. “I didn’t mean it that way, Spike. You’re doing… the best you can.”

“Yeah, but it’s not good enough, and it never will be,” he replied, then shrugged. “Look, I’ve a hankerin’ to drown my sorrows in solitude. I’m pretty much healed up now, and I thank you for your hospitality, but I’m gonna go back to my crypt. You look me up when you wanna do another plannin’ session over a few bottles of booze, and I’ll be game. In the meantime, I’ll go back to my cave where all us nasties belong.”

He began walking towards the exit. Giles tried to stop him.

“Spike, I…”

“Can it, Rupert. Can’t handle it right now.”

He looked back at the man who was looking broken and exhausted, and knew Giles looked like he felt inside.

“You do what you gotta do, and I’ll do what I gotta do. And we’ll leave it at that.” He turned away and stalked out. “More beer’s behind the bar, Watcher. Help yourself,” he called over his shoulder as he left.

He did not look back.

Chapter 23

For the next couple of days, Spike sulked in his crypt. He’d gone out only once during his fit of pique, and that had been to assist Buffy with a vampire. He remembered helping her from before, remembered taunting her about her looks and her inability to keep a man, but this time, he was oddly quiet. He saw the vamp slam her backwards and moved in for the kill. He dusted it and stepped back, waiting for Buffy to yell at him for getting in her way, but she hadn’t. They made pleasantries, just as they had the night Olaf was in the Bronze. He asked about her mother and she replied that Joyce was recovering, but that the house was a mess.

She then complained about her classes and the cutting remarks a professor had made. He had listened and confirmed her belief that Rasputin was indeed a demon. Her smile had warmed him, and he wondered if she really didn’t know how intelligent she was. He knew she hated school, that studying was a hardship for her, but he also knew that she had done fairly well on her SAT scores.

Buffy was far from stupid, but like so many young people in the modern times, the antiquated teaching methods of the schools failed to create an environment that made learning interesting for her. Without her mind engaged and interested, she simply didn’t apply herself. Instead, she allowed her low grade point average to convince her that she was dumb, and accepted the common belief that she was not fit for higher education. He wondered how she would do in a small, personalized situation, where her quick mind was fed all the right things. He had no doubt that she’d surprise everyone, herself most of all.

Their little non-violent interaction had been pleasant, and he had returned to his crypt a little lighter hearted than he had been before. It wore off in a few hours, though, when he was left alone with his memories and nightmares and the firm belief that nothing he could do would make any difference. It wasn’t enough to make him give up, however, and he did tidy up his crypt in anticipation of the Council of Wankers barging in to interview him.

They showed up right on time, crossbow and crucifix in hand, to ask him questions about Buffy and her work. Souled, but still prone to impatience with obvious hubris, he played with them a bit, feeding them stories of his and Buffy’s adventures and flirting with the young woman. It had been fun to yank them around, and he’d actually felt quite a bit better after they’d gone. Part of this was because he knew he had helped Buffy a great deal in making her look like Super Slayer in the eyes of the Council, and the other part was his evil smugness in knowing he was light years ahead of them in knowing what was going on with Glory, the Hell Bitch.

After they left, he aired out the place to get rid of the smell of Stuffed Shirt, and tidied up some more because he knew Buffy would be bringing Joyce and Dawn over for him to watch and protect. Then he settled in to take a nap. He knew Buffy would wake him when she brought her mother and sister over, and he didn’t want it to look like he had been expecting company.

She woke him up a few hours later by slamming the door and shining sunlight on him. He leapt up, startled, ready to fight, then relaxed when he saw her.

“Oh, it’s the Slayer,” he commented, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “For a second there, I was worried.”

He nodded his head towards Joyce and Dawn who were standing behind Buffy, looking rather uncertain.

“What’s with the family outing?” he asked.

Buffy came close and he focused on her. She looked worn and frightened, and he once again fought the urge to reach out. He almost choked on it, that and the knowledge that she saw him as nothing more than a monster to be used and discarded at her convenience.

“I need your help,” she said earnestly.

He’d snarked at her before, demanding cash, but this time, he softened and leaned close.

“What is it? Is there danger?”

The look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know about her surprise and her gratitude.

‘See, there’s a man in this monster. A man who loves you and will do anything for you. Can you bring yourself to see him, Buffy?’

“You have to look after them,” she said in a serious voice.

He pretended to be affronted. It was no good to be too helpful. Being too helpful usually earned him a few bruises.

“Whoa. That’s a boatload of manly responsibility to come out of nowhere. What's the matter, Slayer? Not feeling a hundred percent?”

She shook her head and crinkled her nose. “No, I…”

He decided to tease her a bit. It would make her feel better if he acted ‘normal.’

“They didn't put a chip in your head, did they?

“No...”

“Be funny if they did,” he said, licking his teeth and smirking.

She lost patience and frowned. “I need an answer. Now. In or out, Spike?” At his pensive look, she added quietly, “You're... the only one strong enough to protect them.”

‘No, I’m not. I’m a colossal failure at it, but I swear this time around, I’ll do better.’

He gave her a tender smile, confirming her belief that preying on his male ego had convinced him to help her, when just the opposite was true.

“All right then,” he agreed, then turned to Joyce and Dawn. “Ladies, come on in. Plenty of blood in the fridge.”

“You mean like, real blood?” Dawn asked, taking a few tentative steps forward.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “What do you think?”

She crinkled her nose in distaste just the way Buffy did when she was squeamish. “Mostly I think: eww.”

“Mom, keep Dawn here as long as you can. I'll be back soon as I can,” Buffy told her mother then turned to Spike. “I know I don't have to tell you this, but...”

He smirked and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah... anything happens to them, I'll stake you good and proper. Sing me a new one sometime, eh pet? That bit's gone stale.”

She looked as if she was going to retort something then decided against it. Shaking her head and giving her mother one last reassuring glace, she hurried out. Spike looked at his remaining two reluctant guests as they cast concerned glances around the room. Poor Joyce looked about as out of place as a skinhead at a Mormon Convention.

“I love what you’ve neglected to do with the place,” Joyce finally offered nervously.

He smiled and welcomed them in, going to the beat-up television, knowing that Joyce liked Passions as much as he did, and moving to turn the TV on.

“Just don't break anything and don't make a lot of noise - Passions is coming on,” he said.

That got Joyce’s attention as he knew it would, and she came forward to sit on the old chair in front of the television.

“Passions? Oh, do you think Timmy’s really dead?”

He sat next to her on the arm of the chair. “Oh no, she can just sew him back together. He’s a doll for God’s sake.”

“What about the wedding? There’s no way they’re going through with that.”

He smiled to himself, happy to have them there if only for a short while. He was aware of Dawn’s impatience with their preoccupation with soap operas, but he left her be to do her school work as he and Joyce sat by the dim glow of the television.

Two hours later, Joyce was asleep in the chair, Spike’s tattered blanket tucked around her shoulders, while he and Dawn played cards for snack mix on the other side of the crypt.

“Gin!” Dawn exclaimed quietly and Spike scowled.

“Oi! Nibblet. You got me again,” he groused as she dumped the ‘stakes’ bowl of snack mix into her own ‘winnings’ bowl.

She laughed, giving him a coy look. She’d been flirting with him ever since her mother had fallen asleep and he’d turned his attention to the bored teenager.

“You’re not letting me win, are you?” she asked shyly.

“Don’t have to, Bit, you’re a natural. ‘Sides, you think I like losing all of my Chex Mix to you? Stuff’s expensive you know.”

“I think it’s funny that a vampire has real food. I mean, what do you do with it?”

“Eat it, of course.”

“But don’t vampires eat blood?”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy other stuff.”

Dawn shrugged as she shuffled the cards. “Angel never ate any human food.”

He took the cards from her and shuffled them himself. “Yeah, well, Angel’s a wanker.”

She giggled and watched as he dealt another hand. Each then looked at their cards and placed their wagers in the ‘stakes’ bowl.

“This is fun,” she said after a short while as they played. “And you’re really good at it.”

“Yeah, well, you grow up in a time without television or radios, gotta do somethin’ ta pass the time. Cards, board games, readin.’ Made the nights go faster.”

“I always thought that was why Victorians had such big families,” she joked with a grin.

He smirked and shook his head. “Not goin’ there with you, Sweet Bit. Sexual relations and the Victorian era were not compatible in any way.”

She leaned close and whispered in a conspiring tone, “I once looked up a book in the library called My Secret Life. I snuck it out of the adults section. There were four volumes of this guy talking about his sex life in Victorian England. He’d go to whore houses to have sex because his wife wasn’t supposed to enjoy having sex with him.”

He leaned back and lit a cigarette. “Yeah, that’d be about right. That whole ‘wifely duty’ thing…” He stopped himself and gave her a piercing glance. “And did I not say that I was not discussing this with you, young lady?”

She laughed, her eyes dancing. “So, what did you do on those cold Victorian nights?”

He took a drag from his cigarette. “If you tell anyone this, I *will* find a way to kill you, understand?”

Her eyes widened a little, but she leaned close expectantly.

“I was a proper English gentleman. I never even thought dirty thoughts.”

She giggled. “You?”

“I was. And I played cards and board games with my mum and little sis on those cold Victorian nights.”

She blinked at his words. “You had a little sister?”

He nodded even as his heart sank. He hadn’t wanted to speak of his family but she’d gotten him into it.

‘Sneaky little chit.’

Closing his eyes and crushing out his cigarette on the stone crypt floor. “I did.”

He hoped that she would now let it go, but she was like a pit bull with a bone.

“What was she like? What was her name?”

He sighed, calling up his sister’s sweet face from memory. They had the same blue eyes, same nose and the same wavy, sandy brown hair.

“Anne. Her name was Anne and she was a lot like you.”

“She was?”

He smiled, remembering Anne’s laughter, and took a sip from the beer he’d been nursing for the past half hour. “Yeah. She was smart and pretty, like you, Bit, and she had a habit of asking the wrong questions at the wrong times. Two peas in a pod, we were. I adored her and she adored me.”

“Did you kill her?” Dawn asked suddenly.

He choked and spit his mouthful of beer all over the floor, startling Dawn and making her scramble backwards.

“Wh…what?” he gasped, staring at her in horror and wiping his mouth.

She looked guilty and ashamed. “Buffy… Buffy always said that when you become a vampire you go back and kill your family.”

“Did she now?” he snapped, making Dawn flinch. “I wonder where she got that idea.”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Now you listen, missy, and you listen good. Just because darling Angelus got a hankerin’ to massacre his folks, does not mean all of us go out and eat the ones who raised us after gettin’ turned,” he snarled.

“O…okay…”

“Angelus hated his father and from what I’ve heard the feelin’ was mutual. He was a womanizing drunkard who would have died from the clap sooner or later,” he continued, ignoring how he was scaring Dawn. “He was a bastard in life and he was an even bigger bastard in unlife. His Brooding Soulness would like you to believe that all us vamps are just like him, but the truth of it is, he was the worst of the lot. Not even Darla, depraved bitch that she was, would do some of the things her precious Childe did without a blink.”

He paused, clenching his fists, not registering that Dawn had pressed herself against the crypt wall because he’d shifted into gameface.

“What… what he did to Dru. Drivin’ her mad, killin’ her family and makin’ her think The Sight was a curse from the devil… That… that was *evil.* At least when I went huntin’, I killed ‘em quick. Even the ones I did with the railroad spike. Once I got ‘round ta doin’ it, I slammed it through right quick. Done. Gone. No messin’ around. I got ‘em, let ‘em know who I was, let ‘em know that I was the one who they’d humiliated and abused, and rammed the spike though their heads. They’d never make fun of me again, blighters.”

He came out of his rant to finally see Dawn cowering away from him, and realized that he had been scaring her. Touching his forehead, he felt the demon ridges, and forced himself to shift back to human face.

“Sorry about that, Bit. I pop off sometimes. Especially when I have to deal with anything havin’ ta do with Angelus.”

Seeing his human face again made her relax a little and she offered him an apologetic smile. “You don’t like him much.”

He lit another cigarette. “Who? The Grand Poof? Hate his guts. Got all souled after eatin’ that gypsy girl, and abandoned me and Dru. Dru cried for weeks. I couldn’t console her. She nearly got us killed dozens of times with her wailin’ and sloppy kills. Then he’s here in SunnyHell when I bring Dru here to get well after that mob in Prague almost killed her. Bein’ all heroic-like and workin’ against us, helpin’ the Slayer. Goes and gets himself a Happy and turns all evil bastard on us again. Takes Dru from me. Tries to destroy the bloody world. Got lots of reasons to hate the wanker.”

“He’s all depresso boy and his hair sticks up,” she added.

He took a drag from his cigarette. “He’s a Poof, what do ya expect? Pillock’s in love with his hair gel.”

Dawn giggled and uncurled, then she gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry I made you mad.”

“Don’t worry about it, Sweet Bit. You didn’t know any better. And to answer your question, no I did not kill Anne. Anne died of consumption at the tender age of fourteen, leaving me as Mother’s only surviving child,” he answered calmly.

“What happened to her after you… you know… died?”

He looked down sadly, remembering. “It broke her heart. I wanted to see her, let her know I wasn’t really gone, but it was too dangerous. Even then I knew Angelus would kill her if he knew where she was.”

“You protected her.”

He nodded. “Worked with a barrister behind the scenes. Got it arranged for her to go live with her sister in Yorkshire. I was there the night she left on the evening train. She didn’t see me. It was the last time I saw her. She died six years later. We didn’t live long in those days.”

“At least she died safe,” Dawn said, and he turned to see that she’d crawled up next to him and was at his shoulder.

“Suppose so,” he answered, not entirely comfortable with her closeness.

“You know what I think? I think Anne was very lucky to have a brother like you,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “At least she knew you loved her. It’s more than what I have.”

His head whipped around to her. “What do you mean?”

Dawn swallowed. “Remember when I asked you if I was real? When I told you that two crazy guys said I wasn’t really here?”

He creased his brow and nodded.

“Well, it happened again, only this time it was Mom who said it. She called me a thing. Told me to get away from her.”

“When was this?”

“When she was in the hospital, and the night she came home and that icky space bug attacked us.”

“Oh, Bit, she wasn’t in her right mind. You can’t take anything she said seriously,” he comforted.

Dawn shook her head. “There’s more. Giles, Mom and Buffy, they talk about me when they think I can’t hear. There’s something going on that they don’t want me to know about. I think it has something to do with that demon Glory, the one who came to the house today.”

“Glory came to your house?” he blurted. He’d never known the exact reason why Buffy had brought Joyce and Dawn to him that afternoon. Now he knew and he was shocked by Buffy’s show of faith.

She nodded. “Yeah. She was in the living room. She threatened Buffy. That’s when Buffy brought Mom and me here.”

“Big Sis’s puttin’ a lot of faith in one vamp.”

Dawn shrugged. “She knew we’d be safe here. Glory doesn’t know about you, and she’d never think that Buffy would take us to a vampire for protection.”

Spike considered that and had to agree.

“Glory’s looking for a key. She thinks Buffy has it. She wanted to know if I knew where it was. Do you know what Glory is looking for, Spike?”

He knew he couldn’t lie but he also couldn’t tell her the truth, so he hedged instead. “Got an inkling, but I’m not exactly part of the Scoobie inner sanctum. They don’t really keep me in the loop. I know it’s important, and that Glory can’t ever get her hands on it.”

“But what does that have to do with me?” she asked earnestly, and the look on her face nearly broke his heart.

“I’m sure that whatever it is, they’re just tryin’ to keep you safe,” he told her honestly, then motioned to the forgotten cards. “Now come on. It’s your turn to draw. Gotta win back my Chex Mix, ya know.”

Dawn gave him a little smile and moved to pick up her hand. He picked up his and looked at them, reminding himself of the hand he had been drawn, but his mind was elsewhere. Her words bothered him because he knew that she was figuring out things for herself, and he remembered how well her discovery that *she* was the Key had gone last time. Rearranging his hand into a more logical pattern, he added convincing Giles to tell Dawn she was the Key to his list of Things-To-Do.

‘Pillocks better tell her before she finds out about it herself,’ he thought, taking a card from the pile and discarding another.

Dawn snatched it up with a triumphant grin and slapped down her cards. “Gin!”

He sighed and rolled his eyes as she took her winnings.

‘Bint better get back here ‘fore little sis cleans me out of Chex Mix.’

Chapter 24

Spike considered Buffy’s birthday present to be a significant improvement over the battered box of chocolates he’d thought to give her the last time. No, this time he was going for something more… appropriate. This time he was giving her a genuine Gruth’lak battle axe, newly cleaned and sharpened, and carefully selected from his own personal arsenal. Considering that he had lopped off the head of the Gruth’lak himself with the axe, he doubted the demon would miss it.

He hefted the axe and gave it an appraising once-over, smiling and hoping it would be well received.

‘Nothin’ says ‘I love you’ to a Slayer more than a well made and razor sharp weapon,’ he mused to himself. He only hoped the red bow he’d tied around the handle wasn’t too chintzy.

He stopped outside the Summers’ house, hearing the party merriment from inside and smiling when he heard Buffy laugh. He wasn’t going in right away, however. He had a wayward little sister to herd back into the house before she scampered off to the Magic Box.

‘And there’s my little escapee as we speak,’ he thought as Dawn’s figure appeared. Suppressing a chuckle, he placed himself in her path so that she’d bump right into him.

“Boo.”

She yiped and whirled around.

“’lo Nibblet,” he said with a smirk.

“Geeze! Lurk much?” she demanded, trying to salvage her wounded pride.

He lit a cigarette to keep from laughing. “Wasn’t lurkin’. I was standin’ about. It’s a whole different vibe.”

Dawn spotted the axe and gave him an incredulous look. “What is…? Are you giving Buffy a *birthday present*? Oh my god, weird! Plus, an axe? With a bow? Lame! And you know she'd never touch anything from you anyway.”

Spike snorted, amused by her crossed arms and haughty teenage snarkiness, but he played along, pretending to be irritated. “Shouldn't you be tucked away in your beddy-bye, all warm and safe where nothing can eat you?” he growled, looming close and spinning the axe.

She scoffed at him. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

He sniffed, and shrugged, “Little tremble wouldn't hurt.”

“Sorry, it's just - come on. *I'm* badder than you,” she replied.

He stepped back and scowled. “Are not.”

“Am too. You're standing in the bushes holding an axe with a bow on it. I'm…” she announced.

“What? Sneaking off to braid hair and watch the Teletubbies with your mates?” he retorted.

“No. I'm breaking into the magic shop. To steal things,” she replied, a serious look on her face.

“Magic shop, eh? All number of beasties between here and there. Bet they'd really go for a little Red Riding Hood like you.” He looked out at the night, then back to the house. “I bet that wouldn't set too well with big sister.”

She gave him a look full of false bravado. “I can take care of myself.”

He pursed his lips and shook his head. “I don’t think so, Sweet Bit. I let you go, you get hurt, and Big Sis hands me my dust in my own personalized urn.”

Dawn crossed her arms and set her jaw stubbornly. “You can’t stop me. You’ve got a chip.”

He shook his head and tutted. “Ah, ah, Bit. If I don’t intend to hurt you, I can to stop you.”

“What are you gonna do? Drag me back by my hair?” she snarked.

“Nah, I save the hair draggin’ for special occasions. I’d just sling you over one shoulder and carry you back in like a sack of potatoes,” he responded with a smirk.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said. “Besides, you’d have to catch me first.”

Dawn dashed off, running down the street. Spike took a moment to count to ten and ask for forbearance, then took off after her, leaving the axe behind. She’d barely made it to the end of the neighbor’s yard before he overtook her. She slammed right into him as he grabbed her and picked her up.

“Vampire speed, Bit.”

She struggled and kicked out with her feet, trying to twist out of his grasp. “Put me down!”

“Not until you’re back in your living room, Bit,” he said, walking back to the house.

“Ow! Ow! You’re hurting me!”

Not sure if she was telling the truth, he set her down. Since he wasn’t intending to hurt her, the chip wasn’t going off, but sometimes he didn’t know his own strength and he could be holding her too hard. Spinning her around, he kept a grip on her upper arms and made her look at him. She was sullen and angry, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Let go of me,” she demanded, trying to shrug off his hold.

“Not until you’re safe in the house.”

“I’m not safe in there!” she yelled, tears brimming in her eyes. “They talk about me in whispers and get quiet when they think I can hear. Everyone’s acting all weird around me…” She gave him a furious glare. “Even you. You know, don’t you? You know what’s going on.”

Caught, he squirmed uncomfortably. “Now, Bit. I know for a fact that they’re only trying to protect you.”

How was he to know that it was the very worst thing he could say?

Dawn flew into a rage, her anger giving her strength. “I’m not a baby! I can take care of myself!”

She ducked and he twisted, then she brought up her foot and kicked him in the groin. He gasped and doubled over, then fell to the ground as something smashed into the back of his head with brutal force. He had enough time to realize that she’d hit him with Buffy’s birthday present before he blacked out.

“Spike,” a voice came, slightly irritated, and followed by a jostling of his prone body.

He groaned.

“Spike,” the voice said again, this time punctuated by a light kick.

He groaned again and opened his eyes to see Buffy and Willow looking down at him.

“Hi. Nice to see you could join us. Now tell me what you’re doing passed out outside my back door?” Buffy asked.

Memory came flooding back to him, along with a splitting headache, and he sat up too quickly.

“Dawn,” he managed to get out before the wave of dizziness hit him.

“What about her?”

“She was sneaking off. I tried to stop her,” he said, feeling the lump on the back of his head. “Bloody Hell that hurts.”

Buffy gave Willow a look and the witch hurried into the house.

“You’re telling me, my little sister knocked you out?”

“Well, it’s not like I can do anything to her. Still have the chip, y’know, and the bloody bint kicked me in the balls.”

Buffy laughed until Willow came running back.

“Buffy, she’s gone.”

The others joined them.

“Buffy, what’s wrong?” Joyce asked, worried.

“Dawn’s gone.”

“Gone? Where?” Giles demanded.

“Magic Box,” Spike replied, rising slowly to his feet.

“Magic Box? Why on earth would she go there?” Giles asked.

Spike cracked his neck and worked his jaw. “Said she was goin’ there to steal things.”

“Steal things?” Anya cried. “The money! She’s after the money! We have to stop her! Xander! Quick, get the car!”

Spike put up a hand. “Don’t think she’s after money, mates. She said somethin’ about you lot talkin’ about her. I think she’s goin’ there to see if she can figure out what’s goin’ on.”

Buffy turned to Giles. “What of she finds out she’s the Key?”

“Wait a minute? *Dawn* is Glory’s Key?” he blurted, using the opportunity to ‘find out’ about the Key.

Buffy gave him a frightened look. “How did you know about the Key?”

“Dawn told me that Glory bint was lookin’ for her key. Are you tellin’ me that Dawn is what she’s lookin’ for?”

He locked eyes with Giles, looking for backup. The Watcher looked away and cleaned his glasses.

“I’m afraid that is the case,” Giles confirmed, giving Spike a knowing glance.

“Bloody Hell.”

“We have to find her. Mom, you stay here. I’m going to the Magic Box. Hopefully she’ll still be there,” Buffy ordered.

“We’ll go with you. We have to check on the money,” Anya said.

It was tacitly agreed that Willow and Tara would stay with Joyce while Xander, Anya, and Buffy went to the Magic Box in Xander’s car. Spike bullied his way into going along with Giles, and the older man agreed without too much protest. He was grateful for the Watcher’s show of confidence. He hadn’t seen Giles since the incident at the Bronze, and was glad that the man appeared to have decided to keep his secrets and help him.

Getting into Xander’s car, they arrived at the Magic Box to find the door smashed open. The axe that had severed it was still stuck in the door, a crumpled red bow hanging forlornly from the handle.

“What is this? Where did this come from?” Buffy demanded, yanking the axe from the door and looking at it.

“Um, she took it from me,” Spike admitted.

She gave him an incredulous look. “You were bringing an axe to my house?”

He looked guilty. “Actually… I…”

Buffy looked at the bow, the axe and then at Spike, putting two and two together.

“You were giving me an axe? For my birthday?”

He looked offended. “What? You don’t like it?”

Buffy gave the axe a look. “It’s… it’s…”

“It’s a Gruth’lak battle axe,” Giles said, coming forward to examine the weapon. “Spike, where did you get this?”

He smirked and puffed up with pride. “From a Gruth’lak? Where else?”

“You killed a Gruth’lak demon?”

His smile widened. “With his own axe.” He shrugged. “Blighter was butter-fingers and dropped it. Suppose it could have had somethin’ ta do with my cuttin’ off his hand, but…”

“Guys! Enough with the Weapons 101,” Xander interrupted. “Dawn? Remember?”

“And the money!” Anya added, lest they forget.

Birthday present forgotten, they headed into the store to find that Dawn was not there. Spreading out, they searched to find any clues as to her whereabouts. Spike made a circuitous route around the sales floor until he came to the place where he and Dawn had read the Watcher’s diary before.

“Oi! Over here,” he said, calling them over to the place where Dawn had lit candles in order to allow her to read Giles’ writing.

Giles swore softly upon seeing the open diary. “Damn. She knows.”

Buffy looked stricken. “Giles…”

“Okay, where would Dawn go if she was upset?” Xander asked.

Buffy shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“We should organize a search…” Giles said.

The phone rang and Buffy leaped to get it.

“Hello?” she said into the receiver. “Hi, Wills. Dawn? She’s there.”

They gave a collective sigh of relief.

“Oh thank god. She what? How is she? Okay. We’ll be there soon. Yeah, the Magic Box is okay, except for the one door. She smashed it in with an axe she took from Spike. Don’t ask. Okay. Keep her there. Bye.”

She turned to face the rest of the group, her eyes concerned and relieved. “That was Willow. Dawn came home. She’s safe, but she cut herself with a kitchen knife. She’s okay. Willow, Tara and Mom are with her.”

“Oh dear, is she okay?” Anya asked.

“She’s fine. Willow says that it wasn’t bad, but Dawn’s pretty traumatized. I need to get back there as soon as I can. Xander, can you give me a ride?”

“Sure Buff, let’s go,” Xander agreed, finishing his car keys out of his pocket.

“I’ll stay here and shore up the door she… smashed with the axe,” Giles said.

They all looked at the axe, lying forgotten on the reading table. The bow was still clinging valiantly to the handle, although squashed and unraveling. Spike gave it a dejected glance and pursed his lips, but said nothing. Buffy looked from the weapon to the vampire, back to the weapon, and then to Giles. The Watcher cleared his throat and gave Buffy a small nod.

“It is a fine weapon, and you’re not likely to find one like it very soon. Gruth’lak demons are excellent metalsmiths, and they prize their weapons. This battleaxe appears very well made, and it is given in good faith,” Giles told her haltingly, casting Spike nervous glances.

Buffy pursed her lips and reached for the axe. She picked it up, feeling its weight, and examined the blade. She even made an attempt to fix the poor, battered bow. Spike watched her do this with an expression of mild surprise and pleasure. Giving the axe a test swing, she twirled it in her fingers and turned to him.

“Thanks Spike.”

“You’re welcome, Slayer,” he answered with a nod. “Happy birthday.”

She gave him a small smile. Xander and Anya gave him confused and wary looks, but neither said anything as Buffy hurried out the door. Xander and Anya followed her out, leaving Spike alone with Giles. The two eyed each other with grudging respect.

“Thanks for backin’ me up, Watcher.”

“Yes, well, I have done a lot of thinking these past few days since our encounter in the bar, and I have come to the conclusion that I must trust in fate and put my faith in believing that there is a higher purpose to all of this, and that everything will turn out for the best,” Giles responded nervously.

Spike snorted. “Yeah? Well, you’ll have to have enough faith for both of us, Watcher. ‘Cause I still think this all a bloody joke, and the sodden Powers That Be have a rotten, twisted sense of humur.”

Turning away, he moved to the broken door. Giles followed and they secured the battered door as best they could in silence.

Chapter 25

Spike was well into his third bottle of scotch when Buffy came flouncing through his crypt door the following night. He was lying on top of the stone sarcophagus, swigging liquor directly from the bottle and allowing the languor of drunkenness to dull the pain he was suffering. Never mind the damn soul, the whole business of knowing what was going to happen and being powerless to do anything about it was enough to drive him to drink. The soul only added that extra knife twist into his gut just to make sure he was feeling the pain.

“Spike!” Buffy called, heading towards his prone body.

“Hmmmmmmmmm,” he cut her off, placing two fingers on his forehead. “Hold on, I feel a vision coming on… Don’t tell me… Little Sis has run off again.”

She opened and closed her mouth then put her hands on her hips angrily. “Yes. How did you know that?”

He dropped his hand to his side and giggled nervously. “I’ve got the Sight. Oh Dru, now I finally know how you felt all those years. Listen, the stars are singing.”

Buffy snorted, seeing the empty bottles strewn on the floor.

“Are you drunk?” she accused.

He laughed again. “Yeah,” he drawled with a lopsided smile, then his face grew serious. “Doesn’t help much, but it just makes everything so damn funny.”

“You’re pathetic, Spike. You’re useless to me drunk.”

He gave her a hard look. “I’m useless to you no matter how I am. I fail to see how a little liquor’ll make any difference.”

She snorted and gave him an angry glare.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I tell you a nasty truth that you didn’t want to hear?” he sneered, sitting up. “Whaddya gonna do, Slayer, break my nose?”

Buffy looked away and stepped back, pursing her lips. She shook her head slightly. “I won’t hit you again,” she said softly, then added with a sharp glare, “Not when you don’t deserve it.”

He gave her a smirk. “Givin’ yourself an out, eh, Slayer. Just lemme know when ya wanna play Kick the Spike again an’ I’ll be sure to book a one-way trip to Borneo on that day.”

He stood up, rolling his shoulders and reaching for his coat. “Well, let’s rally the troops, find the Nibblet. And hey, maybe I’ll even get my head bashed in by a Hell God. Might get rid of this bloody headache.”

She gave him an odd look, watching him as he put on the coat. When she kept staring at him, he glared at her impatiently.

“Well? Come on,” he said bitterly and stalked out, not bothering to see if she was behind him.

Moving purposefully through the cemetery, he heard Buffy fall into step beside him, but he didn’t look at her. In truth, he was feeling rather guilty for snapping at her, but there was only so much a man or vampire could take.

‘Useless to her the way I am. Useless to everyone’s more like it. No good for anything. All I do is bugger things up.’

He kept ahead of her until they reached the Magic Box, where he held the door for her just out of habit. She gave him a look as she passed him and entered the store, but didn’t say anything. He followed, straightening up as he entered, and putting on his bravado in preparation of facing the Scoobies. Giles, however, took one look at him and frowned, seeing right through his façade.

“I brought the Bleached Wonder,” Buffy announced offhandedly. “He deigned to pull himself out of his bottle long enough to help us find Dawn.”

Spike raised his eyes to meet Giles’ and the two men locked gazes.

“Could I see you in the training room, please, Spike?” Giles asked tightly.

He gave a quick nod and followed the Watcher.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Giles apologized, closing the training room door behind them.

“You’ve been drinking heavily.” It was a statement, not a question.

Spike flopped down on the old sofa, legs and arms spread-eagled. “Told you, Watcher, drink’s the only thing keepin’ me sane.”

“We need you sober,” Giles hissed.

“Oh what? Think I’m cagin’ in on your rep as the Scoobies’ drunkard? Lest you forget, Rupert, you were drinkin’ yourself into oblivion all last year, *and* with me not all that long ago,” he shot back.

Giles didn’t have a quick answer, but he did shake his head and glare disapprovingly at the vampire.

“That may be so, but in a crisis, I understand the importance of having a clear head.”

“Why?” Spike retorted. “Doesn’t help any. Doesn’t make it better. I still got all these memories in my head that I can’t do anything about!”

“That isn’t true! You are doing everything you can to use your knowledge to help us.”

“Fat lot of good it’s doing! I haven’t changed anything! You lot won’t listen to me. Half the time you think I’m lying! The clock’s tickin’ down. Dawn knows she’s the Key. Glory’s gonna start gettin’ creative with us! The bloody armored medieval rejects are pokin’ around! And Ben. Is. Still. Alive.”

Giles shook his head. “I told you, we only kill Ben if there is no other choice.”

“And I’m tellin’ you offin’ him solves all of our problems.”

“He is an innocent.”

“Bollocks! Dawn’s more of an innocent. At least she didn’t know what she was until last night, and if you lot had told her about it like I told you, she wouldn’t have gone scamperin’ off in the middle of the night to find out by herself and gone all slash and burn on us.”

“And how do you propose we should have told her?” Giles snapped back.

“Anythin’ was better than havin’ her find out the way she did. And if you hadn’t been whisperin’ and actin’ all weird around her, she would never have known somethin’ was up. Bloody idiots couldn’t keep a secret if your sorry lives depended on it.”

“And you, of course, are a stellar example of deference and stoicism,” the man snapped.

“Oi! It took a Truth Spell to drag it out of me, if you recall. Not even the Slayer gettin’ creative with my body parts made me spill. Took you and your nancy-boy spell to make me tell.”

“Yes, and to my great regret, that is true.”

“So tell me, Watcher, how my knowin’ all this stuff, and my bein’ here is doin’ a whit of good?”

Giles sighed. “You have been able to affect some change, Spike.”

“So I saved the bloody bloomin’ onion! Bully for me! I haven’t been able to make any big changes! I haven’t been able to make sure that Buffy doesn’t have to die to save her sister!”

“We don’t know that! Altering history is a tricky business. There are a great deal of things that must be considered…”

Spike shook his head as his anger fizzled and the guilt he carried with him as a constant companion fell down on him.

“No. I figured it out, ya see. It’s all my fault.”

“How do you mean?”

He looked up at Giles, sorrowful and broken. “Everythin’. It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t taken Dawn to Doc, then he wouldn’t have known she was the Key. If I hadn’t gotten that wanker Warren to make me a Buffy-Bot, Glory would never have gotten a hold of me…”

“But you didn’t betray Buffy and Dawn to Glory, even under torture,” Giles broke-in.

“I know I didn’t! Was still there, wasn’t I? Still made her get up close and personal with the Hell Bitch. Still failed to stop Glory from gettin’ Dawn in the first place. Still let Doc knock me off the bloody tower and cut Dawn. If I wasn’t here, then none of that would’ve happened,” he yelled.

He stopped, pulling himself back together when he felt as if everything was just coming apart at the seams.

“Dru’s comin’ back,” he said suddenly.

Giles looked up from cleaning his glasses. “What?”

“Dru. She’s comin’ back in a week or so. Comin’ in on a train. Thought I might go with her. Bugger out of here. Might be best for everyone involved.”

“So you’ll just run away then?” Giles responded with forced levity.

Spike’s head shot up and he snarled. “Not runnin’ away, Watcher. Didn’t you just hear me tell ya that it’s all my fault!”

“And I can think of a dozen different examples of how your presence has helped us,” Giles snapped back, losing patience. “However, if you would rather wallow in self-pity and drink, then by all means do so. If you would rather slink off with your ex-paramour and abandon us, then go ahead. I will continue to use the knowledge you have given me in the fight against Glory, and do what I can to alter history without your help. At this point, I really don’t care what you do because you are useless to me as you are, and if you can’t pull yourself together long enough to function properly, then maybe it is best that you do leave.”

With that, Giles walked out, leaving Spike still sitting on the couch. The vampire squeezed his eyes shut and pushed his palms against his temples, willing back the tears. Biting his lip, he struggled to compose himself and decide on a course of action. He was so wrapped up in his own pain that he didn’t hear or see Tara enter the training room until he felt her gentle touch. Snapping his head up, startled, he stared at her with moist eyes.

“Can I help?” she asked gently, her eyes soft and compassionate, and he knew her offer was genuine.

‘Sweet Glinda,’ he thought, looking at her.

Pretty soon Glory would brain-suck her, turning her into a babbling lunatic, and he frowned. She was the only one who had ever showed him any kindness, who had ever touched him with gentleness. Even when he was at his worst, she had still looked at him with compassion and patience. She didn’t deserve what Glory would do to her, or any of what happened after.

And he was in a position to stop it. The realization was a balm to his bleeding wounds and a look of infinite tenderness came to his face. She’d given him a reason to keep fighting. All of the invective and anger and indignation hadn’t touched him the way this girl’s simple touch and offer of support had done. He reached up and stroked back her hair with one hand, smiling with gratitude when she didn’t flinch away from his cool skin. Then he slowly rose to his feet, shouldering his burdens once again, and leaned over to kiss her gently on the temple.

“No, Glinda. But thank you.”

He gave her a final fond glance and composed himself, squaring his shoulders and walking towards the open training room door. He passed Giles on the way out.

Tara watched the vampire leave, her mind and heart in turmoil. She waited as Giles approached her with questions on his face. He must have seen her come in and wanted to see what was happening.

“He’s in so much pain, Mr. Giles,” she said softly, her eyes still focused on the open door.

Giles sighed and nodded. “He carries a very heavy burden.”

Tara looked at him, gathering courage to voice what she had suspected all along. “It’s his soul, isn’t it.”

The shocked and guilty look on the man’s face gave him away. “How…”

“I can see it. It’s in his aura. I just didn’t say anything because it wasn’t my place to give away his secrets.”

“Yes, well…”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me about it. I understand. I’m just glad that he has someone else to help him. I’m sure it’s very hard for him, and it’s always easier if you’re not alone.”

She gave Giles a tender smile and followed the path Spike had taken out of the training room, leaving Giles a little more than stunned and chagrined.

“No, not alone,” the man sighed, and walked to join the rest of the group in organizing a search for Dawn. He tried to make eye contact with Spike, but the vampire refused to look at him.

Spike had wrapped himself up in his duster like a leather shield and withdrawn into himself. There would be no reconciliation with him tonight. Giles hoped they would come to terms with each other again sometime within the next few days, but for now there were more pressing matters.

Chapter 26

Following Buffy in her search for Dawn, Spike tried to remain calm. He knew that Dawn would end up at the hospital with Glory and he wanted to get there as soon as possible, but Buffy had her mission. They entered the park and passed the playground equipment.

“Dawn?! DAWN?!” Buffy called.

“Yeah, that should do it,” he groused, annoyed.

“Shut up,” she snapped.

“The Nibblet’s scampered off to get away from you. She hears you bellowing she'll pack it in the opposite direction. Can't say I blame her,” he responded.

Buffy sagged, defeated and stopped to look at him.

“You were right. We should have told her…”

He stood there awkwardly, hating to see her in pain and helpless to do anything about it.

“She probably would have skipped off anyway, even if she never found out. She's not just a blob of energy - she's also a fourteen-year-old hormone bomb. Which one's screwing her up more right now? Spin the bloody wheel.” He paused, eyeing the night. “You'll find her, just in the nick of time. That's what you hero types do.” At her uncertain expression, he added sincerely, “You’ll find her.”

“And then what?”

“Then you bring her home. Joyce’ll ground her until she’s twenty-one and you won’t have to worry about her skippin’ off anymore,” he offered.

At the mention of her mother, Buffy smiled slightly. “Only if we cut down that tree, get rid of the trellis and padlock her door.”

Spike shrugged. “Suppose we *could* build a stone tower onto your house and put her in it, but I think that’d give it away just a bit.”

Buffy laughed softly, glad for the reprieve. “Just a bit.”

He gave her a smile and looked around. “How is Joyce doing anyway?”

“Better. Worried about Dawn, but we all are. Thanks for asking,” she answered sincerely.

“Like your mum. She’s a good woman. Doc put her on blood thinners?” he asked suddenly.

There was a pause, then Buffy answered slowly, “Yes.”

He nodded, distracted. “’S good.”

“Why?”

“Huh? Why what?” he replied, pausing to look at her.

“Why is it important that my mom be on blood thinners?” she responded, fixing him with a knowing, expectant stare.

Caught off guard, he tried to back pedal, his mind working on a glib lie that would gloss over his concern with a plausible explanation. Buffy stepped up to him, cutting him off as he began to stammer his answer.

“No,” she said firmly. “Don’t you dare make something up. If it’s one thing I have learned, it’s that you don’t do anything without a reason. What’s wrong with Mom?”

He worked his mouth a few times and looked away from her steady stare.

“I…”

“Do you smell something wrong?” she asked suddenly, and his head shot up to look wide-eyed at her. Under his stunned look, she explained, “Giles told me. You knew about Mom’s illness because you smelled it on her. Do you smell something wrong now?”

And the lie that wasn’t really a lie at all was handed to him on a silver platter, wrapped up in a big red bow. Sighing, faking defeat, he hung his head and nodded.

“Yeah. I smell old blood. Could just be the incision healin’ but it’s been a while. Could be a hematoma… big blood clot.”

“I know what a hematoma is, Spike.”

He nodded, keeping his head down so she would think she had him. “It’s probably nothin’ but I figured it couldn’t hurt for her to be on blood thinners. Just in case.”

“Thank you, Spike,” she said softly, making him look up in surprise. His look made her squirm and she had to look away.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly.

He had to shake his head because he wasn’t certain he’d heard her correctly and it could have been the alcohol that he’d imbibed that had him hearing things.

“Pardon?” he stammered.

“I said: I’m sorry,” she repeated more plainly. “I’m sorry I beat you up. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you when you kept telling me to take Mom for a CAT scan. I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t tell me that something was wrong.”

Spike hung his head again, unable to process her apology. “You wouldn’t have believed me anyway if I had.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have. And I’m sorry for that too.”

They fell into uncomfortable silence, each not knowing what to say, until finally, he looked at her and nodded.

“Thanks. Let’s go find Nibblet.”

He took a few steps, then smiled to himself at his own stroke of genius and made a show of sniffing the air. The action caught Buffy’s attention immediately and she was at his side in a heartbeat.

“What? What is it?”

“I smell Dawn. She’s been here, and recently too.”

“Can you tell which way she went?” she asked excitedly.

He sniffed and nodded, “Yeah, ‘s this way.”

Thankful that Slayers also had vampire speed when needed, he pretended to follow Dawn’s scent directly to the hospital. Buffy ran past him as they approached the building.

“You don’t think she…” Buffy breathed, hurrying into the ER waiting room.

Her absence while she checked to see if Dawn had been brought into the ER gave Spike enough time to catch Dawn’s real scent trail. He sniffed it out, walking slowly around the exterior. He knew that they had found Dawn on the third floor before, but there was no telling where she had been when she first ran into Glory or how she entered the building.

“She hasn’t been brought in,” Buffy told him, relief in her voice, as she rejoined him outside.

He shook his head. “No, I suppose not. Looks like she walked in on her own two feet.”

“You can still smell her?” Buffy asked, amazed.

He nodded, focusing in on a set of closed doors that led to an interior corridor. “Yeah.”

“Even with all these… hospital smells?”

“Once a vamp gets a scent and starts trackin’, very little can knock him off the trail. It’s this way.”

He moved forward, Buffy following close on his heels as he made his way through the unlocked doors and down the corridor. It was night, so the hospital staff was on graveyard shift. No one saw them come in as they moved across the hall and into a stairway.

“You sure she came this way?” Buffy asked.

“Yeah. Not long ago either. Scent’s strong.”

“Spike, the mental ward with all of Glory’s loonies is up this way.”

He paused on the stairs and looked at her. “You don’t think…”

“Crazy people can see what she is.”

There was no answer to that and they hurried up the stairs. Entering the mental ward, they found Dawn standing at the foot of one of the mental patients’ beds.

“You know what I am, don't you? You all know? Tell me,” she was demanding of the man in the bed.

“Can't hear it can't hear it can't hear it…” the man babbled.

“What am I?”

“Dawnie!” Buffy cried, running over to her.

“No!” Dawn argued, shrugging off Buffy’s attempts to grab her. “What am I!?”

“The Key!” yelled another mental patient.

Dawn whirled around to face the new voice and Spike recognized the man as one of the Knights of Byzantium at the same time Buffy recognized him too.

“Knights of Hack and Slash…” she breathed as Dawn hurried over.

“I found it!” the insane Knight said, squeezing his eyes shut. “Thank you. Thank you…”

Dawn edged in close to his bed.

“You know what the Key is? Where did I come from? Who made me? What am I? Please…”

“Dawnie…” Buffy tried.

“I want to know!” Dawn yelled back angrily, but jerked back as the Knight lunged for her, his restraints barely stopping him.

“Destroyer! Cracked earth and bones! The sun bleeding into the sky!” he cried.

“No…” Dawn choked, stepping back, crushed.

Spike stepped up to her, flanked by Buffy.

“Dawn,” he whispered, trying to get her attention.

“The Key is the link! The link must be severed!”

The rest of the mental patients went into fits, terrifying Dawn. She covered her mouth with her hands and turned to flee, just as Ben entered the mental ward.

“What the? What are you doing here?” the intern asked, surprised.

Spike moved forward immediately, placing himself next to Dawn as Buffy ran interference.

“Dawn... she was trying to understand how my mom could get so crazy with the… y’know brain tumor, so she ran here,” Buffy tried to explain hastily.

“Oh,” Ben answered, looking past them to the agitated patients. The Knight was still lunging for Dawn, pulling at his manacles.

“So… umm… we were just going. Come on, Dawnie…” Buffy said, grabbing her sister and dragging her, struggling, out of the ward.

“The Key! The Key! Bring back the Key!” they heard the Knight cry as the doors banged shut.

“No, no! I want to know!” Dawn argued, trying to pull out of Buffy’s Slayer grip.

“Dawn!” Buffy hissed, dragging her into the stairwell.

Spike guarded the door and gave Buffy a nod at her askance glance. “Benny stayed to calm down the loonies,” he said.

“Dawn, those crazies know you’re the Key!” Buffy scolded.

“I know! They can tell me what I am,” Dawn replied, squirming, tears running down her cheeks.

“What they can tell is Glory’s minions that you’re the Key so she can come snatch you!” Spike growled.

“But I have to know…” Dawn sobbed.

“Dawn… Dawnie… What you are is my sister…”

Dawn shook her head. “I’m not… I’m not anything…”

“You are. You are flesh and blood and we love you.”

“No! No! I’m not! I’m not real. I’m not real! I’m not…” the teen began to wail, growing hysterical.

Spike stepped forward and slapped her, stunning her out of her hysteria and making him yowl from the chip shock.

“You’re real, Bit!” he snarled, one fist to his temple. “Real enough to give me a migraine.”

“And that means you’re human,” Buffy affirmed.

“But…” Dawn stuttered. “Buffy…”

She broke down, collapsing against her sister in a sobbing heap. Buffy wrapped her arms around her and held her close, rocking her as she cried. Spike stood close by, knowing he didn’t have the right to join them, but desperately wanting to. He waited, fists and teeth clenched, until Dawn settled and they pulled apart.

“Dawn, we need to get out of here,” Buffy said softly.

Dawn nodded through her sniffles and Buffy helped her to her feet. They began making their way down the stairs, but Dawn tripped from exhaustion and emotional stress. Buffy moved to catch her, but Spike was faster, hoisting Dawn into his arms as if she weighed nothing at all.

“I’ve got ‘er, Slayer,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Buffy gave him a look and seemed to come to a decision. She gave him a short nod and watched from the corner of her eye as they walked down the stairs. They didn’t speak again until they were out of the hospital.

“You want to go alert the troops while I take her home?” Spike asked, still cradling Dawn. The teen had her head resting against his leather-clad shoulder, her eyes blank and staring.

Buffy looked at the darkened Sunnydale streets and frowned.

“I told the gang to check in at the Magic Box. I’ll run there and leave a message, then join you.”

Surprised and secretly pleased that she was trusting him with Dawn, he nodded. “Right then. See you back at your place.”

She gave him a final, pensive look, before heading off for the Magic Box. He waited a moment, watching her leave, before setting off for Revello Drive. He walked quickly, purposefully, taking the shortest route possible. Dawn’s fingers curled themselves into the lapels of his duster as he carried her, silent but strong, homewards.

Joyce was waiting at the door when he stepped up to the porch. Somewhere along the way, Dawn had fallen asleep and he was grateful Joyce was there to open the door so he wouldn’t jostle her awake struggling with the doorknob.

“Buffy called me from the Magic Box. She’s on her way,” Joyce whispered at his silent question.

He nodded, crossing the threshold and following her up the stairs to Dawn’s bedroom. He gently laid her down as Joyce held back the covers, and stood protectively by as Joyce removed Dawn’s sneakers and covered her with the blankets. They both looked at the exhausted girl on the bed whose face was still pained even in sleep.

“What monsters would do this to an innocent child?” Joyce wondered aloud. “Didn’t they think before doing this to her? Making her sentient, turning her into a human girl?”

“Brown robe types rarely look at the big picture, Joyce. All they saw was a way to protect the Key from Glory by giving it to the Slayer. I doubt they considered the consequences of making the Key human.”

Joyce shook her head sadly. “And messing with our minds, our memories… It’s like a type of rape.”

He grimaced, his soul constricting at the sound of the word rape.

“I dunno, Joyce. Just a vampire here. I don’t have any answers for you. What I do know is that we can’t make Nibblet feel less than human. We have to convince her that we love her just the same, whether she’s been with us 14 years or 4 months,” he replied.

“You love her, don’t you?” Joyce asked suddenly.

He started and stared at her, then he put on airs and shrugged. “What’s not to love? I mean, she’s a great kid even if she is a blob of energy.”

“I didn’t mean Dawn. I meant Buffy. You love Buffy.”

He squirmed under her piercing gaze and tried to weasel out. “Soulless demon here, Joyce. We can’t love.”

“A soulless demon who visits a sick woman in the hospital and brings her chocolate, who shows concern and protects her daughters, who laughs with her and watches soap operas, and cares about her health and well being. That doesn’t sound like a being that is incapable of love.”

He looked away, unable to meet her eyes. “Doesn’t matter,” he said finally, emotion overwhelming him.

Joyce cocked her head and looked at him with a look only astute mothers could own. “Doesn’t it?”

He sighed, closing his eyes. “No, it doesn’t.”

“A year ago, I told Angel that if he loved Buffy he should leave and let her have a normal life. I didn’t know… I didn’t realize that Buffy would never have a normal life, that she would never have the life I envisioned for her,” Joyce admitted softly, her voice tinged with a sadness that could not be fathomed, the sadness of knowing that she would probably bury her daughter before her child’s 25th birthday.

“I want her to have a normal life, Spike, but Slayers don’t live normal lives. They live short, desperate lives full of violence and darkness, and happiness is as fleeting as sand between your fingers.”

He watched her move about the room, smoothing Dawn’s coverings and brushing the girl’s hair from her face gently.

“I thought Riley was perfect for Buffy. He was military and fought the same darkness Buffy fought, but the darkness consumed him and he betrayed Buffy in a terrible way,” she continued, walking from Dawn’s room and coming to stand in the hallway. He followed, interested in hearing what she had to say.

“I remember you from 4 years ago, when you first attacked my daughter at the high school. I remember when you allied yourself with her to fight against Angel when he took my daughter’s virtue and turned evil. I remember when you returned the following year, heartbroken that Drusilla had left you. I remember the trouble Buffy had with you her first year of college, and your struggle with the chip that army operation put into your brain. I also remember how you helped Buffy this last year, how you helped me and looked after Dawn, how you have protected and aided both of my daughters. I have seen you change and become someone no one thought you could be, but I have seen you struggle with it anyway, without help or encouragement.”

She moved close to him, her eyes sad and resigned. “I know you are a soulless being, but you have more soul than some humans I know. You are loyal and faithful and strong, and you accept my daughter for all that she is, not just the parts of her that are attractive or pleasing to you. I don’t approve, but I do understand. And I have come to terms with the reality that my daughter is a Slayer, and that means she won’t be with me for very long. If she can find happiness with someone who loves her so fiercely that he would change his very nature for her, I can’t find any fault in that.”

He stared at her, unable to hold back the tears that welled in his eyes at her soft words and tacit acceptance.

“Thanks, Mum,” he managed, and allowed himself to dream of what it would be like to be accepted by Buffy and loved by her.

He dreamed of long nights slaying and loving, followed by quiet days watching soaps with Joyce, helping Dawn with her homework, and feeling part of a family again, of *belonging* somewhere. But it was a dream and he knew it, and he let it slip away, fading behind his eyes like a fond memory.

“However, your eldest doesn’t love me, and she never will, and that’s how it should be. Vampires and Slayers… they weren’t meant to be together. But I will love her until I am dust, and I will protect her and hers with every last ounce of strength I have inside me. I give you my word, Joyce Summers, as the English gentleman I once was. I will never hurt your daughter,” he promised, looking her directly in the eye.

“I believe you, William. I believe you.”

“Believe what?” Buffy’s voice came from the doorway, making them both jump.

Spike stared at her, horrified that she might have heard their conversation, and he didn’t know what to say. Luckily, Buffy’s mother was as glib as her daughter, and easily came to the rescue.

“Spike was assuring me that Dawn hadn’t put herself in any undue danger tonight by going to the hospital. He swore to me that he didn’t hear or smell any of that Glory woman’s minions around when you were there or when he was bringing her home.”

Buffy looked at him and he tried to see what she was thinking, but her face was closed and her eyes unreadable.

“That’s good. That’s really… good.”

“So, did you leave a message for the others?” Joyce asked.

“I ran into Willow and Tara on my way from the Magic Box. They promised to tell the rest of the gang. Is Dawn okay?”

“Yes,” her mother assured. “She’s asleep. Spike brought her safely home.”

Buffy graced him with a measured look. “I knew he would.”

He couldn’t hold her gaze and dropped his eyes.

“I’d best be off. It’s late and I’ve got telly to catch up on,” he said, suddenly feeling the need to run and run very far.

Joyce laid a gentle hand on his arm and gave him a fond look.

“Goodnight, Spike and thank you.”

“Night Joyce, night Buffy,” he mumbled, making his hasty exit. It was too much and he couldn’t take it. He had to get out of there before he lost it completely and started bawling like a ponce.

He didn’t see Buffy staring thoughtfully after him as he hurried out.

Chapter 27

“Spike, what’s a one word synonym for fear of heights?” Dawn asked as she did her homework in his crypt.

She was sitting cross-legged on his sarcophagus while he sprawled in his chair reading the newspaper.

“Acrophobia,” he replied without hesitation, not even bothering to look up.

“What about fear of people?”

“Anthropophobia.”

“Wow. You knew that right off the top of your head.”

He flipped the page of the newspaper idly. “What can I tell you, Sweet Bit. I’m a walking, undead dictionary.”

“I think it’s cool that you’re so smart. I’ll bet you were always smart. You just didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Got it in one, Nibblet. You’re too smart for me. Kids these days, I’ll tell ya…”

His comment made her laugh and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. She cast him a devilish look and flipped back her hair.

“That’s me: Too Smart Dawnie.”

“Okay, Smarty. I’ve got one for ya. What’s amathophobia?”

“Fear of algebra?” she piped back.

Now he did laugh and he let her see the humor dancing in his eyes. She preened, making him smile wider at her teenage antics.

“No, Bit. It’s fear of dust, namely mine, which I am in danger of becoming if you don’t finish your homework and toddle home soon. It’s almost dark.”

She pouted but returned to her work. “Don’t worry. I’m almost done.”

“You’d better be. You’ve been here since you skipped last period.”

Her head shot up and she blushed furiously. “I didn’t… I wasn’t…”

“Don’t even try it, Bit. I may be a vampire, but I can tell time, and I do know what time little kiddies like you get out of school. You were here at least 40 minutes before that, ergo you skipped,” he interrupted, giving her a knowing stare, one raised eyebrow included.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Okay okay. Busted. But it was just study hall and I didn’t want to spend fifty minutes reading Romeo and Juliet.”

Spike sat a little straighter at the mention of The Bard, his newspaper forgotten. “That what they got you readin’ in school, Bit?”

Dawn shrugged. “It’s boring and impossible to read and I’ve, like, seen the movie a gazillion times.”

He snorted in distaste. “Movie.” ‘My only love sprung from my only hate…’

“Hey! Do not knock Leonardo DiCaprio. He is like, so hot.”

“Oooo, Leonardo,” he said in high falsetto. “He’s soooo dreamy. I think I’m in luuvvv.”

“Stop it!” Dawn ordered, but she was giggling.

“All right, all right. I shall not sully the holy name of Leo-nerdo DiCraprio.”

“Spiiiiike!”

He snickered, but had to add, “You do know that Shakespeare didn’t write ‘Romeo and Juliet’ out of his head, don’t you?”

“He didn’t?”

“Nope. He based it on an older story, an English translation of an Italian work called ‘The Tragicall History of Romeus and Juliet.’ He caused quite a scandal when he made the fair Juliet the tender age fourteen instead of sixteen,” he informed.

“Ewww. And they get married in the play. That’s like, gross,” Dawn said, crinkling her nose.

Spike shrugged. “Folks married young and died young in those days, Bit. ‘Sides, he probably did it so he could use younger boys for the role of Juliet and make it more believable.”

“Because women weren’t allowed to act on stage.”

“Precisely.”

“That is, like, so weird.”

“It was the Elizabethan Era. They did a lot of weird things in those days.”

“Yeah, like write these really boring plays that are impossible to read,” she sighed dejectedly.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Bit. Shakespeare never meant for his plays to be read. He meant them to be *heard* and *seen.* When properly produced and read, Shakespeare’s plays are some of the finest, most well written works of art ever created.”

She seemed unconvinced and so he recited Prospero’s epilogue from ‘The Tempest,’ the words falling from his tongue almost without his conscious thought.

His mind was elsewhere, however, on a night set in the not-so-distant future when a sorrowful Dawn, bereft of mother and sister, had sat with him in the living room of an empty house that had once been a home. That night it had been ‘Hamlet,’ and he had tried to draw a smile to her worn face by acting out the part of the Danish prince in his manic state, welcoming the players and dancing about. She laughed then, a thin and strained laugh, but a laugh nonetheless, so he had showed her the humor Shakespeare had written in the murder of Polonius and Hamlet’s disposal of the body and subsequent interrogation.

He was the only one who could make her smile then, and she looked to him as the only thing keeping her sane. No one but her ever saw him when he let William out to play, out to recite prose and offer insights into English Literature. It was their little secret and they had guarded it carefully.

While he knew that never having to go through the death of her mother and sister would be the greatest gift he could ever give the girl he had come to view as a little sister; he still sometimes mourned the loss of the closeness they had shared during the summer of Buffy’s death. He hadn’t let William out in decades, and the freedom had awakened emotions in him he had thought as dead as his soul. He would miss it, even though he knew it was a small price to pay.

William lived full-bore in him now, and only Giles knew he was there, looking through Spike’s eyes. Who would listen to him after he had succeeded in his mission? Who would look at him as something other than a monster? Could any suffering or good deed ever atone for all the evil he had done? Perhaps Prospero’s soliloquy was more fitting than he imagined, and that was why the soul chose it to recite.

“…Now I want

Spirits to enforce, art to enchant;

And my ending is despair,

Unless I be reliev'd by prayer,

Which pierces so that it assaults

Mercy itself, and frees all faults.

As you from crimes would pardon'd be,

Let your indulgence set me free,” he finished, to Dawn’s shocked stare.

“Wow. Um... wow.”

He bowed his head, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“No. No, don’t apologize. That was beautiful.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“You know all of that by heart.”

He shrugged, brushing off her awe-tinged voice. “Know most of ‘em by heart; at least my favorite parts. ‘S not that hard when it’s somethin’ ya like.”

“I get that,” she said seriously. “I like how you talk to me like I can understand. Everyone else is acting all twitchy and weird. And I’m glad that you told me I could come here if it got too much for me. Thanks.”

“I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

“I know. And I feel safe with you.”

Before when she had said that, he had been offended and annoyed, but now he was pleased.

“You’re welcome, Bit. Now finish your homework and then I’ll walk you home.”

Two hours later, an angry Buffy stormed into the crypt to find them both sitting on top of the sarcophagus, candles illuminating the small space. There was an old, worn book in Spike’s hand and he was reading from it.

“Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison'd entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights has thirty-one
Swelter'd venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i' the charmed pot,” he recited in a false, crotchety voice.

“Ewwww,” Dawn said, squirming.

“Spike! Dawn! What the...?” Buffy demanded, looking at them in confusion.

“Buffy!” Dawn greeted happily. “Spike’s reading Macbeth!”

“Mac-what?”

“Macbeth. Y’know, the play. By Shakespeare?” her sister clarified.

Buffy gave Spike an incredulous look. “Shakespeare?”

“Yeah. It’s the cursed play! Actors are afraid to call it by its real name…”

“What are you doing here? Mom is worried sick,” Buffy snapped.

Dawn looked chagrined. “Oh… I… I came here after school. Spike said I could!”

“Spike?” Buffy said accusingly.

He wilted under her angry glare. “I’m sorry. I was going to bring her home hours ago, but…”

He trailed off. There wasn’t much to say.

‘At least she didn’t catch me tellin’ Nibblet about my murderin’ that family and the little girl in the coal bin.’

“Dawn, get your stuff.”

“But… but he’s at this really cool part. There’s these three witches and they’re…”

“I said: get your stuff.”

Dawn huffed and jumped down off the sarcophagus to gather her things, leaving Spike to face Buffy.

“I’m sorry Joyce was worried. I really was going to bring her home hours ago,” he insisted.

“We didn’t know where she was. She never came home from school.”

“I told her she could hang out with me when you lot got too weird for her. I’m sorry, I don’t have a phone. But you do know she’s safe with me, don’t you. No one’s gonna snatch Little Sis while Spike’s on watch.”

The angry glare softened somewhat and she relaxed slightly. “I know, but things are very dangerous right now Spike. Glory is out there and so are the Knights of Hack and Slash. And now some vamp’s killed six people on a train at Sunnydale Station. We can’t be taking any unnecessary risks.”

‘Six people on a train…’ he thought, heart sinking. ‘Dru…’

He sighed. “I understand and I’m sorry.” He looked at her, wanting her to understand as well. “But you have to know, Buffy, that this is really hard on her. It looks like she’s takin’ it well, but she’s got a lot of hurt inside, a lot of anger. She comes here to hang out and get away. And I don’t mind. Not really. I know she’s safe and it’s better than her bein’ out there by herself.”

He leaned close and whispered. “’Sides, I think she fancies me. Got a bit of a teenage crush.”

At her look of distaste, he pulled back and postured. “Not that I blame her, mind you. I do have a certain devilish charm,” he smoothed, giving her a wink.

“Touch my little sister, and I will hand your privates to you on a platter.”

He threw up his hands in surrender. “Just kidding, Slayer. Nibblet’s virtue is safe with me. Not only is she a bit young for me, but I don’t fancy havin’ ta face Joyce if her youngest gets compromised. No offence, Slayer. You’re tough, but your mum wields a wicked axe.”

He knew she knew that he was joking because the impish glint came into her eyes. “Might give me a chance to use that axe you gave me for my birthday.”

“What? You haven’t used it yet?” he gasped in mock-offense.

“Not much in the way of chopping going on lately. Not that I’m complaining. I’ve got enough to worry about, y’know.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“Okay, I’m ready Herr Fuehrer,” Dawn announced sullenly.

“Ok, let’s go, Dawn,” Buffy said, then turned to Spike. “Thanks for keeping her safe.”

He nodded. “Tell Joyce I’ll be by tomorrow to apologize. In the meantime, you might want to consider gettin’ Kid Sis one of those cell phones.”

Buffy gave him a smirk, then put one hand on Dawn’s shoulder and guided her out of the crypt.

“Or a pager or maybe even a homing device!” he called after them as the door shut.

Dawn giggled after they were out of the crypt. “Homing device. But hey, the cell phone idea is good. Emily Branchard’s got this totally cool one with an N’Sync cover…”

“I’ll ask Mom about it,” Buffy answered, marching them towards home.

“Really? Cool!”

“In the meantime, Dawn, I think you need to be more careful. We were really worried about you.”

“I know, but I was with Spike. He said I could hang with him if I wanted.”

“So he said. When did he tell you that?” Buffy asked.

Dawn grew quiet and subdued. “The night he carried me home from the hospital after what happened in the mental ward.”

Buffy frowned. “Oh.”

Dawn kicked at a stick in her path. “He said I could come to him if I ever needed to go somewhere to get away. I’d had a really bad day. Kirstie was being a total bee-atch again and I just wanted somewhere to go.”

She perked up and smiled. “Besides, I like hanging out with Spike. He’s funny and oh! You should hear him read Shakespeare! He knows most of them by heart.”

Buffy paused and shook her head. “Spike’s right. You do have a crush on him.”

“No, I don't! It's just he's got cool hair and he wears cool leather coats and stuff. And he doesn't treat me like an alien,” Dawn countered, flustered.

“He’s over 120 years old! And a vampire!”

“Right. That's why you were never with Angel *for three years.*”

“Angel’s different. He has a soul.”

“Spike has a chip. Same diff. And even if I did have a crush, he wouldn’t notice in a million years. Not with you around.”

“What does that mean?”

“Spike’s totally into you.”

At her sister’s stunned silence, Dawn pressed, “Oh, come on. You didn’t notice? Buffy, Spike’s completely in love with you.”

Buffy’s face fell and she looked crushed. “I know.”

Now it was Dawn’s turn to look stunned. “You know?”

Buffy nodded. “I heard him and Mom… talking about it. Then I asked Giles and he admitted that loving me was one of the things Spike had said under the Truth spell.”

“So? What are you gonna do?”

Buffy looked away. “I don’t know. Both Mom and Giles insist that Spike won’t hurt me… or any of us. But I must admit I’m a little wigged and I don’t know what to do about it. Right now, we need Spike’s help with Glory and I don’t want to push him away. And part of me is kinda hoping that it’ll blow over and he’ll go back to wanting me dead,” she admitted.

Dawn shook her head. “Won’t happen.”

Buffy sighed and ushered them along again. “Then I’ll just have to wait and see what he does and deal with it when I have to.”

Dawn hurried to keep up. “Do you think you could… you know… love him?”

“Spike’s a vampire, Dawn. He’s a soulless killer.”

“But he’s different now. He’s changed and he has the chip.”

“The chip just makes him a serial killer in prison. Besides, Spike said it himself. Vampires and Slayers weren’t meant to be together. I’ll never love him and he knows it.”

Buffy stopped and looked back at the now dark crypt. She stared at it for a moment before turning back to the path, her face pensive and somber. “Let’s go home, Dawn.”

Dawn remained silent as she and Buffy left the cemetery.

Chapter 28

Rupert Giles was not stranger to duty and responsibility. In fact, with the small exception to his Ripper days, he’d lived Duty his whole life. At first, he was Bound to his family and its long, honorable traditions. Then it was the Council of Watchers, never realizing that they had set him up to fail when they assigned him to Buffy. And finally, his Duty was to his Slayer, when he turned his back on the Council and sided with the daughter he would never have.

So it baffled him that he was having so much difficulty reconciling himself with his duty to William the Bloody. As the perpetrator of the Truth spell and Spike’s only confidante, he had a certain responsibility to the vampire. Tara had so gently and innocently reminded him of that fact and he’d been struggling with it ever since. He thought perhaps things would be easier for him if Spike wasn’t committed to making things so difficult. Even ensouled, Spike was argumentative, crass and irritating, not to mention extraordinarily astute and bluntly honest. Time spent with the vampire almost always turned uncomfortable when Spike set out to turn everything he’d ever believed in upside down and on its head. And while those times were often- no, required to be- accompanied by massive amounts of alcohol, the resulting hangovers were made that much worse by the realization that Spike had been, once again, absolutely right.

Deferring graciously to the greater wisdom of a demon had never been one of Giles’ strong points, and things weren’t any different now, soul or no soul. Still, he felt he had to make some kind of recompense after his blistering taking-down in the Magic Box. He knew from experience that Spike often liked a few days to sulk before his acid tongue would fade and he would be anything other than condescending and defensive, so he waited a while before seeking Spike out in his crypt.

The tomb was dark and empty, even though it was still day. This surprised Giles because he thought Spike would still be asleep. Looking around, however, there was no sign of Spike and it looked as if he had been out for quite some time. The empty blood bags in the trash were completely dry and the liquor residue in the dirty tumbler next to the tattered chair had congealed on the bottom of the glass.

Wondering where the vampire could have gone in daylight, he looked around some more, searching for clues. He found nothing, or rather he found a great deal, but it was only enough to give him more insight into how the vampire lived from day to day and not on where he might have gone. He was surprised and impressed to find that Spike had amassed quite a collection of literature, which he kept on hidden bookcases behind a drape of black sheets on the lower level of the crypt. Some of the volumes were first editions and appeared very old.

A noise from upstairs caught his attention and he hurried to climb the ladder, not wanting Spike to think he was prying.

“Spike…” he called, rising from the subterranean chamber, but there was no answer.

He paused, looking around, his senses screaming that danger was lurking in the shadows. “Spike?” he called again.

“Bad man,” came a voice from the gloom and a figure floated into the dim haze of diffused light. “Come for my Spike.”

Ice washed through Giles’ veins as he recognized the vampire.

‘Bollocks! I forgot about Drusilla,’ he had enough time to think before she knocked him out with a cattle prod.

*******

Spike was glad that SunnyHell police were considerate enough to put the crime-scene car inside the station house. If he hadn’t known better he would have thought they had done it precisely so those fatally allergic to sunlight could get in. It was easy enough to force the door, the lock was pathetic really, and in moments he was inside the train car.

The police had taped the outline of the bodies, all sprawled in their seats, except for the outline for the station master who was on the floor, and he examined them, catching the splatters of blood the forensic crews had overlooked. He also found the dirty, blind-folded Miss Edith tucked away on the luggage rack.

Sighing, his heart heavy, he examined the doll, sniffing it to confirm that it was indeed Drusilla’s doll. The scent was unmistakable and he would know it anywhere. There was no longer any doubt at all in his mind. Drusilla had returned.

‘Bloody hell. Now what do I do?’

His first thought was to go to Rupert, but the Watcher wasn’t home or at the Magic Box when he went looking for him so he returned to his crypt. There he found signs of a struggle and smelled both Giles and Drusilla’s scents. The dread had already reached his throat when he found Giles’ glasses crushed on the crypt floor, right where he would be sure to find them.

In a way, the broken eyewear gave him hope. Drusilla was sending him a message. That meant the Watcher was probably still alive. Besides, Dru always did like to play with her prey before killing them. Like a cat she was, a big demonic Hellcat- who had Giles.

Spike knew he had no choice, but he dreaded it nonetheless. He had planned to apologize to Joyce for not bringing Dawn home. Now he had another reason to go over to Revello Drive, one much less pleasant. Bucking up, he tucked Miss Edith into his coat and headed out.

Buffy wasn’t there when he arrived, but both Joyce and Dawn were in the kitchen. They welcomed him warmly, Dawn preening like teenage girls were wont to do, her long brown hair in childish braids. Joyce made cocoa and talked about her duplicate shipments of Greek amphorae, making them chuckle while he sat on the counter.

“But they didn't get that it was a copy of the bill of lading... they thought it was another order form, so now I've got two shipments of Greek amphorae on my hands...” Joyce explained, smiling.

Spike smiled too. It was good to see Joyce vibrant and healthy again. A quick sniff revealed that the old blood was still there, but it was fainter. It warmed him and made him feel so much better. Joyce was going to be all right.

“Funny. And really, how many of them do you need. Amphorae,” he commented.

Joyce looked to the kitchen entrance, her face lighting up, and Spike knew that Buffy had arrived home. Before, he had dressed smartly in grey pullover and black leather blazer, but this time, he stayed in his usual black on black. Having never lived through the other timeline, Buffy would never know the difference.

“Oh Buffy!” Joyce greeted. “Spike came over to apologize for yesterday,” she explained, teasingly shaking Dawn’s hands. “Our missing child drama.”

Buffy came in, looking at them all, her guard up and her eyes wary, but he smiled and tried to put her at ease.

“Then I got started talking about the gallery. See, there was this bill of lading...” Joyce began, seeing Buffy’s unconvinced look.

“Oh, don't get us all laughing again, Joyce. Anyhow, I really need to talk to your eldest,” Spike interrupted, hopping down from the counter.

“About what?” she asked.

He beckoned her to follow him and led her away from Joyce and Dawn. She stopped in front of him, arms crossed and he wondered what he had done to make her angry. He sighed, not needing any more stress.

“We’ve got a problem. A big problem. I got a bead on the one who killed those people, the ones in the train,” he told her, his stomach sinking as he reached into his coat for the doll.

“Do tell.”

He pulled Miss Edith out and showed it to her. She stared at it for a moment, confused, then her eyes opened wide and she stared at him.

“Drusilla…” she gasped.

He nodded solemnly. “There’s more.”

“Oh great.”

“I think she has your Watcher.”

“Giles?”

“I smelled both their scents in my crypt, and there were signs of a struggle. And she left his glasses, all crushed up on the floor.”

Buffy looked as if she were going to be sick and he hurried to comfort her. “I don’t think she intends to kill him. At least not right away. The glasses were a message. It’s me she wants.”

Buffy huffed. “Oh great. Your crazy ho of an ex has my watcher and is using him as bait. Why do I have the strangest sensation that I’ve lived this before?”

He had to suppress a manic giggle. ‘If only you knew, love…’

“Okay. We have to find them. Can you do your bloodhound thing and sniff them out?”

“I could, but Dru’s another vamp and she’ll know how to hide her trail. That said, I doubt she’ll be hard to find. She only knows a few places here and she’ll probably pick the place that’s the worst for Giles,” he replied.

Buffy’s brow furrowed and she hardened. “The mansion on Crawford Street.”

“’S what I was thinking.”

The Slayer came out and was all business. “Let’s grab some weapons and go.”

*******

He was sore, and tied to a chair, but otherwise unharmed. Waking from his electricity-induced unconsciousness, Giles opened his eyes and took stock of his whereabouts.

‘The mansion where Angelus tortured me. Oh dear god. And Drusilla… why didn’t she bite me?’

“Don’t like the taste of Watchers,” Drusilla answered, floating into his field of vision. “All fish oil and old books.”

She had him tied to a chair in one of the mansion’s bedrooms. While dusty and neglected, there was still a large four-poster bed draped in dark velvet curtains. Drusilla had amassed quite a collection of weapons and torture equipment on the mattress. He shuddered.

“Shush,” the vampiress scolded. “Not for you.” She pulled out a set of manacles and placed them on the bed with a loving caress. “My Spike’s been a bad boy. Helpin’ the Slayer and killin’ demons. I thought it was the pixies lying to me, but then the stars told me it was true.”

The true motive for her kidnapping him and bringing him here became clear.

“You intend to torture him,” he said.

Dru gave him one of her blank stares, half here and half in the past. “Bad children need to be punished. Like me, and Daddy. Daddy taught me how.”

Giles shivered, remembering what he had suffered at Angelus’ hands, and realizing that not even family members had been spared the demon’s wrath. Angel had told him what Angelus had done to Dru. Could it be possible that Drusilla had tried the same tortures on her Childe?

“Oh yes. In the beginning. When William still cried,” she replied, reminding him again that his thoughts were not protected if he didn’t shield from her. “I would make him cry more. Sometimes Daddy would too. Then he learned that between my legs was better than across my knee, and he stopped crying. Became my beautiful, deadly boy who would be my darling… until the Slayer took him from me!”

She smashed a chamber pot that had been sitting on the floor, the porcelain shards scattering over the rug. Giles flinched.

“Pixies lie, they always lie, but I saw the Slayer floating all around him, laughing at me. He wouldn’t push her away, and then he left.”

She wandered, seemingly aimlessly, humming softly to herself.

“Grandmama helped, but I want my boy back. I want my family. Grandmama, Spike and Daddy.”

She drew a cat-o-nine tails from an armoire, along with a pair of pincers, and looked at them dreamily. “But I can’t get Daddy until I have my Spike. And William cries again. Need to teach him. Some lessons have been forgotten.”

He watched her as she placed the whip and pincers on the bed, feeling sick to his stomach even as a new understanding came to him. Drusilla and Angelus had used pain and pleasure to mold Spike into the demon he became, and his suspicion that Spike was a persona used mostly as a defensive mechanism was confirmed. Not that William the Bloody hadn’t been a killer, but he obviously hadn’t met the standards of evil required by Angelus.

“Daddy said; ‘Shut that miserable cur up or I’ll hack him into bits!’ And I couldn’t have that. He was my playmate. My knight. The fairest and bravest in all the land. So I taught him not to cry. Then Daddy said I had to share. Didn’t like that much. Daddy always made him bleed so much then made me clean the sheets.”

‘How inconsiderate of him,’ Giles thought.

“Daddy always knew what was best for us,” Drusilla sighed. “And I know what’s best for my Spike. He’ll be here soon. With the nasty Slayer. Left your spectacles for him to find.” She looked at him, her eyes cold. “I’ll kill her, and you, and then I’ll get my Spike back, and we’ll be a family again.”

With that, she floated out, humming again, and he didn’t relax until he couldn’t hear her anymore. He took in the bed covered with whips and weapons that would do a Spanish Inquisitor proud and he shivered.

‘God help them both,’ he prayed.

Chapter 29

“Are you going to be able to do this?” Buffy asked as she and Spike walked to the mansion.

He set his jaw tight and took a deep breath. “I’ll do what I have to do.”

“Even if it means killing Drusilla?”

“I’d rather it not come to that,” he admitted.

She stopped and gave him an angry glare. It irritated him. He’d told her about Dru and sought her help. What more did she want?

“What?” he demanded.

“You don’t want her dead.”

“Of course I don’t want her dead. She’s my bloody *sire* and my Dark Princess for a hundred years.”

“Need I remind you that you sought my help because she was a big ho?”

He scowled. “I remember very well, Slayer, and I remember her leavin’ me *twice* until I left for good. I was faithful to her until the end. Until she tossed me away for not bein’ what she wanted me to be.”

Her anger faded to sadness and recrimination, and he knew she was thinking of Riley.

“I get that. Speaking of ex’s, whatever happened to Harmony?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Packed ‘er off to LA a couple of days ago. She’d come back from a shopping spree over that way and I decided it was best for her to get lost with all the trouble with Glory hangin’ about. Bint’s too stupid not to let somethin’ spill. So I boxed up ‘er stuff and sent ‘er off.”

It hadn’t actually happened quite so caustically or as cruel as he made it sound. In actuality, he had sat her down and explained to her that he couldn’t love her because his heart belonged to another. He allowed her to think he was still in love with Drusilla and did nothing to correct her assumptions. They’d made love then, one last time, and the first time he had taken her without anger or fantasy in his heart. She’d cried afterwards, and he had shed a tear or two, but she hadn’t tried to stay. He saw her off the night before Dawn stopped by to visit him, her many piles of clothes stuffed in two burgeoning suitcases he had stolen from the mall. She’d kissed him good-bye, told him she loved him, and that if he could ever let go of Dru, he would know where to look for her. Then she was gone and he was alone, but that was probably for the best.

He came out of his memory to see Buffy glaring at him.

“What did I do now?”

“You don’t treat your women very well, do you Spike.”

“Bloody hell I don’t! I gave Dru everythin’ she ever wanted! I was her slave for a hundred years!” he snapped back.

“And Harmony? She loved you and you kicked her to the curb. I remember what you did to her during that whole Gem of Amarra fiasco!”

He flinched and gritted his teeth. “Harmony was a mistake. I admit it. Dru had left me again, I was weak and she was there. I was wrong to think I could love her and she…”

He stopped, sudden realization hitting him, and stared at Buffy like a deer caught in headlights.

‘She knows! She knows I love her! Oh, bloody hell!’

“You heard your mum and I talkin’ the other night, didn’t you,” he said.

She looked away, her lips pursed, and he knew that she had.

“Balls. I suppose that you will now tell me that I am a soulless, evil thing incapable of real feelings,” he accused.

He saw her choosing her words carefully, and when she spoke it was with forced calmness.

“Giles has told me that you admitted to… loving me while you were under the Truth spell,” she said, making him flinch and curse Giles. “That means, that whatever you think you feel, you believe it to be true.”

She looked at him, her face resolved. “But Spike, you have to know that whatever you think you feel can’t be real.”

“Bollocks!”

She drew herself up, facing him. “Demons can’t love. They don’t have souls. Both Angel and Giles have told me so.”

He snarled. “And if Watcher and the Great Poof say it, then it must be true! Is that it?! Newsflash Slayer: demons *can* love. We can love quite well. Your problem is if that’s true then Angelus could have loved you after he lost the precious soul. What you don’t realize is that he *did* and that was why he hated you so much. Love was and has always been a weakness for Angelus. You made him feel it and he couldn’t handle that. That was Angelus’ problem, not a demon one. Now me, on the other hand, I’ve always been love’s bitch and I’m not afraid to admit it.”

He advanced on her and she looked alarmed for a moment, so he stopped.

“I love you, Slayer. I know I love you. And I know it’s wrong and against everythin’ we both are but I can’t help how I feel.”

She shook her head, parroting back what she had been taught. “Demon’s can’t love.”

“Bollocks, and you know it. I love you. I love you so much it chokes me. Seein’ you in pain and knowin’ I don’t have the right to comfort you. Wantin’ so badly to touch you and knowin’ I can’t, that I’m not allowed. Acceptin’ what little crumbs you toss me. This is Hell for me, every day.”

“Fine! Then leave! No one is making you stay,” she snapped.

He scowled at her, eyes flashing yellow. “No. I won’t leave you. I won’t be like all those other wankers that left you and made you feel like you were unworthy of love. You may not love me. You may never love me, but I don’t walk out on the ones I love, and I protect them, with everything I’ve got.”

She looked at him and he knew she was recalling the words and promise she had overheard him make to Joyce.

“And Mom and Dawn? Are you just being nice to them to get into my good graces?”

He recoiled, offended. “Hell, no! Like your mum and Nibblet. They’re family to me. Wouldn’t hurt a hair on their heads even if I didn’t have this bloody chip in my brain.”

He stopped and they stared at each other, both reeling and breathing hard, until he looked away.

“Rupert and the Scoobies are family too. And right now Dru has one of ‘em. We got bigger problems that what’s goin’ on between you and me, Slayer. Let’s deal with the most urgent things first, shall we? Neither of us is goin’ anywhere and we can deal with all this stuff later.”

She stared at him a bit longer, then her shoulders dropped and she nodded. “Okay. Deal. For now, let’s go rescue Giles. But we’ll have to talk about it eventually, Spike.”

He sighed and agreed, following her as she marched off.

‘Don’t I know it.’

*******

Drusilla was true to her word and did not use any of the ‘toys’ on the bed upon him. She did keep him tied, however, trussed to the chair with barely enough room to breathe. He bided the time by using some meditation techniques and mental conditioning exercises in preparation for doing battle with Drusilla. Knowing she had raided his mind before, gave him extra incentive to protect himself from her psychic attacks.

He was busy focusing all his attention on a single spot of dirt on the rug when movement in his peripheral vision distracted him. At first he thought it was Drusilla coming back into the room, but then he realized that it had approached from the wrong direction. His senses were tingling and he tensed, then something touched his back lightly. He jumped and gasped, but a cool hand covered his mouth to muffle the noise.

“S’ok, Watcher. ‘S me,” Spike’s voice whispered in his ear and the hand was pulled away.

“Oh thank God. Spike, Drusilla is here,” he whispered back.

“I know,” came the reply from behind him as he heard the sound of ropes being cut.

“Is Buffy with you?”

“Yeah. We split up when we came in. Where’s Dru?”

“I don’t know. She left the room about an hour ago and hasn’t been back since,” he replied, pulling his now free arms forward and working his hands to return the circulation to the numb limbs.

He saw Spike take a glance at the bed, saw the shoulders tense and the faint shudder run through the vampire’s body.

“Did she hurt you?” Spike asked softly.

“Oddly, no.”

Spike gave a tight nod.

“Can you stand?”

He felt his legs and wiggled his toes, grimacing at the pain as they came back to life. “I will be able to in a minute.”

“Dunno if we have that much time, Watcher.”

“Well, I am doing my best here.”

Spike snorted. “Might have to carry you out if it comes to it.”

“Over my dead body,” he snipped back, rubbing his calves.

“Hmph, that can be arranged, Watcher. Dru comes back, we gotta bugger out of here and fast.”

“Too late, my William,” came Dru’s voice from the doorway and they both froze.

Turning their heads as one, they faced the vampiress standing by the entrance. She was glassy-eyes and flushed, and she held a bloody chef’s knife in her hand.

‘Oh good Lord. Buffy…’ Looking over at Spike, he saw an expression of horror that he was certain was on his own face.

Spike moved so that he was standing between him and Drusilla, and Giles could barely see the vampires from around Spike’s body.

“Drusilla. Darling…” Spike began, but was cut off by Drusilla’s gasp of disbelief.

“No. No! No! It’s all wrong! All wrong! Burning crickets in your head!” Drusilla cried, her eyes going crazed and wild.

“Dru…” Spike tried again, but she wasn’t listening.

“It’s not true! It’s not too late! I can cut it out!”

Giles had rarely seen a vampire move with the true speed that they were capable of, but he saw the blur that was Drusilla streak towards them. Spike barely had enough time to move further between them before she had him within reach. She grabbed Spike with one hand and literally threw him onto the bed. He landed on top of several of the weapons she had gathered there and his legs kicked off a mace and two daggers.

Both vampires let out twin screams as Drusilla straddled her prone Childe and stabbed him in the chest.

“Cut it out! Cut it out! Swirling nasties behind your eyes! What have you done to my William?!”

Barely able to stand, he rose to his feet, horrified as Drusilla continued to repeatedly stab Spike while he howled in agony.

‘She can see the soul and she’s trying to cut it out!’

Reaching a shaky hand to grab the fallen mace, he swung with all his strength and slammed Drusilla in the skull. She let out a shriek and collapsed as the blow knocked her from the bed and sent her crashing into the wall.

“Spike!” Giles gasped, dropping the mace and staggering to look at him.

Blood was splattered all over the bed and the vampire’s shirt was slashed to ribbons, much like his chest, but he was still undead and conscious. Pain-filled eyes looked at him from the contorted, demon face.

“Find Buffy!” the vampire ordered though his gasps of anguish.

“I’m here!” Buffy said, and he turned his head to see his Slayer standing in the doorway, one hand holding a bleeding cut on her upper arm, while the other held a stake at ready.

“Buffy!” he cried, joy and relief flooding into him.

“Where’s Drusilla?” she demanded.

He pointed to the crumpled body on the floor and Buffy moved in for the kill.

“No!” he heard Spike beg.

The vampire was trying to sit up, one hand reaching out in supplication. Buffy paused, her eyes growing wide at the sight of him.

“No, please. I don’t care what you do with her. Chain ‘er up and toss her in the cargo hold of a slow boat to China or whatever. But please don’t kill her. Please.’

He’d never seen Spike plead for anything, but the open grief on the vampire’s face was heartbreaking. Buffy lowered her stake and made a tentative step towards the bed.

“What happened?”

“Drusilla tried to cut out Spike’s… heart,” he explained, hedging just a bit.

Spike gave him a grateful look and slumped back to the mattress, drained. He lost consciousness a moment later.

“Geeze, talk about a bad hack job,” Buffy breathed. “I hope that wasn’t his favorite shirt.”

He gave her a look that spoke of the inappropriateness of her humor and she had the decency to look contrite.

“Is it safe to move him?” she asked.

He nodded. “My guess is that if we use one of these velvet curtains as a gurney, it should be all right.”

“We just have to get him outside. Mom said she was calling Xander before we left to come here. He should be here soon.”

He acknowledged her answer as he reached for one of the dusty curtains, tugging on it. Buffy reached past him, yanking the curtain and the wooden rod down with one pull. She gave him a guilty look, but he just smiled at her. Then they worked together to wrap Spike in the heavy fabric, grimacing at the amount of blood the vampire had lost.

“We should contain Drusilla> there’s no telling when she will awaken,” he warned.

Buffy agreed and trussed the unconscious vampiress in two sets of her own chains.

When they were ready, Buffy picked Spike up and carried him towards the exit.

“Buffy, do you…” he offered.

“Nah, I got him. For a dead guy, he’s not that much dead weight,” she replied, trying to make a joke but the humor didn’t make it to her eyes. “I’ll come back in for the nut-job ho.”

He gave a strained nod and followed her as they made their way outside to wait for Xander to arrive.

Chapter 30

Spike spent the next two days bundled up in gauze and ace wrap on a cot set up in the Summers’ basement. Deemed too injured to care for himself by Joyce, Buffy was ordered to make him comfortable downstairs until he could function on his own. He had only brief, hazy memories of those forty-eight hours, and most of them were of someone shoving blood down his throat.

After two days, vampire healing had mended him enough for him to be able to stand on his own and speak without coughing up blood. He was still weak, though, and his newly closed wounds would re-open and spill blood if he moved the wrong way. As such, he spent most of his time lying down on the couch with the living room curtains drawn securely shut, watching television.

On the fourth day, he fell asleep during General Hospital and was awakened by the thundering horde of estrogen that was the Summers’ household arriving home. In the past ninety-six hours he had witnessed first hand what it was like to live with three strong-willed women, one of whom was a full bore adolescent, and all of his fantasies of what life would be like were he to be welcomed into the Summers’ inner circle were shattered completely. To be honest he wasn’t certain any man could live it and survive.

Between the constant yammering and fighting over the bathroom and the female hormones floating around, he was amazed that he hadn’t gone completely insane. Still, he quickly learned the value in making himself as small and quiet as possible so he wouldn’t get dragged into another snit between the girls or the girls and their mother. Huddling down in his blankets, he did his best to imitate a pile of discarded laundry tossed on the couch with only the top of his head and his eyes exposed.

‘If I just lay low and keep my mouth shut, they might not notice me…’

“Spike! You’re upstairs!” Dawn cried happily, rushing over.

‘Oh balls…’

The teen immediately began fussing over him. “How are you feeling? Are you in any pain? Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine, Bit. Just restin’ and watchin’ telly,” he whispered, trying to make himself sound worse than he actually was.

“Well, you look better and your voice is way stronger.”

“I’ll be ready to go back to my crypt soon,” he hedged hopefully.

“Not tonight, you won’t be,” Joyce said, appraising him with a mother’s eye and seeing right through him. He did his best to look innocent.

“Mom has a date,” Dawn announced, flopping onto the couch.

Spike looked at Joyce and smiled. “Does she now? Gettin’ back into the singles scene, eh, Joyce?”

“More like Single with Children,” Joyce replied, concern and uncertainty in her voice.

“Mom got three new dresses today, just for her date! Mom, mom! Go put them on!”

“They’re really nothing special or fancy…” Joyce tried, but Dawn was insistent.

“Mom, please? I wanna see them. Besides, we need to make sure they’re appropriate attire for a first date.”

“Where did you learn to talk like that, young lady?” Joyce asked, incredulous.

Dawn fixed her baby browns on her mother and blinked. “Society and values in History class.”

Joyce rolled her eyes and gave in. “Alright, alright.”

“Yay! I’ll help!” Dawn enthused, hopping off the couch, grabbing the shopping bags and dashing up the stairs.

Shaking her head, Joyce followed, leaving Buffy alone with him. She looked at him and he looked at her, but she did not come close. She’d been quiet and civil during his time there, not snarky or argumentative, and for that he was grateful. She kept her distance, but was there if he needed anything, and she didn’t hesitate to help if he required something. She didn’t mention his loving her, and neither did he. Buffy was well into denial and he was too damaged to get into an emotional tête-à-tête with her.

Considering how things had happened before, however, this time around was a vast improvement. At least this time, the encounter with Dru hadn’t resulted in his chaining Buffy to a wall, offering to kill Dru or threatening to let Dru kill her, and his invite to the Summers’ house being revoked. Not that having Dru use him as a butcher’s block had been at all pleasant, nor was it something he would ever want to experience again, but those wounds would heal. This time, he was still welcome in the Summers’ home, albeit warily, and he had two out of three Summers women doting on him like mother hens.

“You do look better,” Buffy said, shaking him out of his thoughts. “I mean, you still look dead, but for a while there you looked deader than dead. I can see a definite improvement.”

“Thanks ever so.”

She fell silent and looked uncomfortable for a few moments.

“So, anything good on TV?”

Spike shook his head. “Just news and soaps. And you know how soaps are: stop watching for two months and you come back to find the same characters suffering the same torments only now they know that they’re all secretly related.”

Buffy giggled and her shoulders relaxed. He found that if he could make her laugh, she would let down her guard a bit and stop trying so hard to figure him out.

“And is Timmy a real boy yet?” she teased.

He gave her a grin. “Nope, still a doll, but he’s hopin’. Oh! Say, what time is it?”

Buffy looked at her watch. “4:12.”

“Oh! BBC America was running a Changing Rooms marathon!” he remembered, grabbing the remote and changing the channel.

Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Changing Rooms? Is that anything like Trading Spaces, that TV show where two neighbors destroy rooms in each other’s house and get designers to help?”

“No, no, this is the *original* show that had neighbors destroying each others rooms. Soddin’ Trading Spaces was just you yanks stealin’ our idea coz you couldn’t come up with an original idea like that on your own.”

“Is it funnier than Trading Spaces? I mean, I saw an episode where the woman designer put moss all over these people’s bedroom wall.”

She came closer and he made room for her on the other side of the couch.

“It’s brilliant. I love it when the people hate it and they cry. Saw that ponce Lawrence get shoved into a pool once. It was great.”

She perched on the very edge of the couch as the program returned from commercials to rejoin the ‘red team’ in the midst of converting someone’s attic bachelor pad into a Costa Rican love nest.

“Ewww, that is the brightest shade of orange I have ever seen in my life,” Buffy commented.

“They’re British, pet. We never get to see the sun so bright colors look wonderful to us.”

The camera closed in on a second can of paint, this one deep turquoise. “Ewwwww. Are they color-blind too?”

Spike just chuckled and settled in to watch Buffy react to the show. She was so caught up in being repulsed by British fashion sense that she didn’t notice that he was staring at her. She was so expressive and alive that he almost started to cry. He’d missed her vibrant personality so much after Willow had resurrected her. It was a gift to see it now.

A few minutes later, Joyce came down to model her first dress and the television was turned off. Spike made more room on the couch and he, Dawn and Buffy played audience to Joyce’s modeling. The first two dresses were very nice, but the third was a knock-out. It was a long black slip dress with calf-length slits up each side and painted lilies on the front.

“What do you think?” Joyce asked, taking a small spin in front of them.

“Mmmm, I might like it more than the others. Could you spin again?” Buffy answered.

Joyce obliged and spun again.

“Ooo, I'm not sure. Once more,” Dawn said.

Joyce turned and Spike caught the mischievous glints in the girls’ eyes.

“Now could you go the other way?” Buffy requested innocently and Spike had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

Joyce started to turn in the opposite direction, but then stopped, wising up to her daughters’ antics.

“You’re messing with me.”

Dawn and Buffy giggled.

“We just wanted to see how many times we could get you to do it,” Buffy admitted.

“Was that five or four-and-a-half?” Dawn joked.

“So is anyone going to talk about the dress?” Joyce asked.

“It’s very nice, Joyce. Like that one on you,” Spike replied.

Joyce put her hands on her hips. “You said that about the other two dresses, Spike.”

Spike shrugged. “It’s true. Though you do look particularly radiant in that one,” he smoothed, turning on the charm. She flushed and looked pleased.

“I like it,’ Dawn said definitively.

Joyce suddenly became uncertain. “You’re sure? It's not too, you know, mom-ish?”

“Oh. That was why I liked it,” Dawn said.

“You're both crazy! It's not mom-ish at all!” Buffy insisted. “It's sexy! It screams randy-sex-kitten-buy-me-one-drink-and-I'll...” She paused and grimaced. “Wait... that's not really good either.”

Joyce looked to Spike and he knew he was in trouble. “Spike?”

“Errr… It’s definitely a dress a mature attractive woman such as yourself would wear.”

Joyce sighed. “Oh, I'm so glad you agreed to help… Oh God, what time is it?”

“Four-twenty-three,” Buffy replied, looking at her watch. “You have lots of time 'til seven. Vast acres of time in which you could plant crops. Now tell me about this Brian and what his intentions are.”

“Yeah, Mum, who is this mystery man who wants to sweep you off your feet?” Spike piped up, enjoying Joyce’s nervousness.

“Maybe he's a gigolo. Was his shirt all shiny?” Dawn asked, worried.

“Could you see his chest hair? Was he wearing lots of gaudy jewelry? The rings’ll give ‘em away very time,” Spike added seriously, but his eyes were laughing.

“No, he works at a publishing house. A nice, normal guy, okay?” Joyce explained. “I met him my first day back at the gallery when I was still kinda shaky. You know, starting over. He asked a question about these antique cameos and I was so lost 'cause Carol did the ordering while I was sick. But it turned out he didn't know anything about them either, so we had a lot to talk about.”

“So, what's the plan for tonight?” Dawn questioned.

“Dinner and then a movie. Or maybe it was a movie and then dinner. Which might be better because then we can talk about the movie. Or maybe a movie isn't a good idea at all, because you can't talk during and then what's the point of any of it. Also, what kind of a restaurant? One with candles and romantic music, or is that pushing it?” Joyce answered, unsure.

“I think a date should be in a real fancy restaurant, then champagne at a night club with a floor show, then ballroom dancing,” Dawn said.

“Unfortunately, we're not dating in a movie from the thirties. Spike?” Joyce asked, pinning him with a worried, expectant gaze.

Spike squirmed and punted. ‘When in doubt, remind ‘em you’re a vampire…’ “Oh, I dunno, Joyce. In my time, a good time for me and Dru was eating the floor show in that night club Bit was talkin’ about.”

Joyce rolled her eyes and looked to her eldest. “Buffy? What do you think? Should I try
to make things romantic or sort of let him set the pace?”

“Oh no, Love-Doctor Buffy is not in. I'm not qualified to give dating advice.”

“Seriously, Joyce, it’s all about chemistry. If this Brian-bloke and you have it, then you’ll know what to do,” he offered.

Joyce wrung her hands and bit her lip. “Oh God-- Brian. What time is it now?”

“Four twenty-four. One minute after you asked us the last time.”

“You're sure this dress is okay?”

“Spin again. Real fast this time,” Dawn said, grinning.

Two and a half hours later, two of the walking estrogen bombs were ready to leave. Joyce, radiant in her dress and makeup, was awaiting her date, and Buffy, even more radiant in a gold sweater and tight black pants, was heading out to a Spring Break party at Sunnydale University. Spike had urged her to go for a little fun time; that he and Dawn would be fine on their own. That was when Joyce announced the Giles would be coming over to keep an eye on Dawn and attend to the ‘undead English patient.’

“Okay, Mom, Xander’s here. Have fun on your date,” Buffy announced as she bounded out the door.

Spike followed her bouncing hair enviously, wishing he could go with her. He loved to watch her dance, but it would save him the humiliation of getting thrown through a window by that Warren-geek’s sex-bot.

“Goodnight honey! Have a good time!” Joyce called after her.

He heard the sound of a car door closing and then the vehicle drove off. Dawn was upstairs in her room, so he and Joyce were alone. Ignoring the protesting of his wounds, he rose to his feet and approached her.

“You really do look stunning in that dress, Joyce,” he said honestly.

Joyce flushed and smiled. “Thank you, Spike.”

“How are you feeling?”

The woman’s smile widened. “Really, really good. The headaches are gone and I feel wonderful.”

“Doc have you on any medication?” he hedged.

Joyce shrugged. “I’m supposed to be taking Coumadin, but it makes my gums bleed something terrible.”

He frowned. “Now, now, Joyce, if the doc says you should take it, maybe you need to talk to him about a different drug if that one’s not workin’ for you.”

“It’s a blood thinner, Spike. I take aspirin instead.”

He gave her an incredulous look and she rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. Really. And who’s the mom here anyway?”

“You are, Joyce,” he answered immediately. He might be a vampire, but he was a well trained vampire.

“That’s right, and I know what I’m doing so don’t worry about me.”

His vampire hearing caught the sound of a car pulling in the drive.

“You’re date’s here, Mum,” he told her.

She immediately smoothed her dress and fluffed her hair. “How do I look?”

He gave her a tender smile. “Radiant.”

She looked at him gratefully and he added, “And you do know that if this bloke is anything but a perfect gentleman, I’ll contract out to have someone eviscerate him and hand him his intestines since I can’t do it myself.”

Her smile faded, but then she laughed and shook her head, opening the door.

“Goodnight, Spike. Rupert will be here around 8:00. Keep Dawn, and yourself, out of trouble until then.”

“Wot? That mean I can’t sell all your furniture and dance to rock music in my boxers?”

Joyce gave him a look that turned evil, and he suddenly knew where Buffy got her impish streak. “You don’t wear boxers, Spike.”

Giving him a final smile, and ignoring his stunned look, she walked out to join her date.

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